Reaching Maturity
by Catmint
Summary: In their last year, the world is changing rapidly, fear growing, with the final showdown drawing ever closer. Allegiances will be formed and broken as Harry, Draco, Hermione and others come of age in a world that will change forever.
1. A Meeting in The Leaky Cauldron

Reaching Maturity

****

Disclaimer: Not mine, much as I wish they were.

****

A/N: This is a loooooong fic, and it'll probably have about 30 chapters by the time I've finished typing it up. I will use all your flames to heat my room, as I am a poor student.

****

A/N 2: I am IGNORING some events from OotP – though there may be one or two things in _Reaching Maturity_ that are true to it. I'm doing my best to adapt this fic as best I can to events in OotP, although _certain things_ are different.

****

A/N 3: for all my loyal readers, HUUUUUGE apologies for not posting this sooner, but there are good reasons. I'm not living on campus this year and I don't have Internet access in the house I'm living in, and to get to the IT room I have to walk up a really steep hill, so I'm not on the Net as much as I was.

----------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------

Chapter 1: A Meeting in The Leaky Cauldron

"It is not time yet. The boy is still at school. We must wait until summer, when he leaves. We simply cannot afford to have that old fool of a headmaster getting suspicious."

"It is difficult to hold on so long, Lucius." The voice was quiet, angry, urgent.

"Not yet. Dumbledore is far too suspicious already. And I have been too busy to speak to my son, what with our … overseas missions."

"You have brought him up well, Lucius. He understands the importance of blood."

----------------------------------------------------

Draco Malfoy, seventeen and three weeks away from starting his seventh and final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, lay unmoving in his bed as he listened to the two men conversing outside his bedroom. As he heard their footsteps move away from his door and grow fainter, he let out the breath that he had not realised he had been holding. For years, this was what he had dreamed about, joining his father as a Death Eater in the Dark Lord's inner circle.

But something was wrong. There was something in the back of his mind, a niggling doubt that he had come to recognise recently as his conscience, which prevented him from being completely sure about what he wanted. _Father would just _love_ this, _he thought cynically. _Just because I'm not as smart as he was at academic stuff, just because I don't have any interest in Pansy Parkinson even though both our sets of parents _and_ Pansy are convinced that we're going to get married. I'd rather marry one of Hagrid's blasted Skrewts. _He winced at the unintended pun. _Just because I'm not good enough for him. Just because I'm not good enough for my own father._

And the visitor. Draco had his suspicions as to who he was, but he did not have anything concrete, as the visitor rarely left the guest quarters in which he was staying, until Draco was safely out of the way, in bed, when the two could not meet.

It took him a long time to get to sleep that night.

----------------------------------------------------

He had no choice. He had to see him immediately, much as he disliked the idea.

"Father?"

"What is it?" asked Lucius Malfoy irritably at breakfast the next morning, not looking up from his copy of _The Daily Prophet_.

"I need to get my school supplies from Diagon Alley, and I'd rather go early," said Draco, masking the nervousness in voice. He was good at hiding his true feelings from his father ("Malfoys do not show emotion; it is a weakness") and he had learned Occlumency from his head of house, Professor Snape, during his sixth year. Just in case; being prepared never hurt anyone. "I want to avoid the crowds that you always get in the week before term starts – and the Mudbloods. You know how it is, Father."

"You know I can't this week!" snapped Lucius. "We have a _guest_, in case you had forgotten?"

Draco had been prepared for this. "I can go on my own. It isn't a problem; I've got my book list and so on. Anyway, you're always saying that I need to be more of an adult and take more control over my life. I can prove it, if you let me go on my own."

"Hmmm." Lucius studied his newspaper for a long moment. He relished watching his son squirm like this. Finally he put his paper down. "I shall give you the necessary money. You must return by tomorrow evening at the _absolute latest_. No misbehaving, and see you spend the money on school items _only_. Understand?"

"Yes, Father." Draco hurriedly finished his breakfast and went back to his bedroom. The letter was there on his desk, ready to be sent. He whistled softly and his eagle owl, Hecate, appeared at his window a moment later. He tied the letter to her leg and told her whom to find. Hecate gave him a strange look before silently spreading her wings and flying off. Draco breathed a sigh of relief. It was done. Now he could go to Diagon Alley, via Floo.

----------------------------------------------------

Diagon Alley was quiet, for once. People talked in small groups, fearful of being overheard – Voldemort had spies everywhere and you couldn't be too careful. You could never tell who was a spy.

Amongst the people in the street, Draco recognised Madam Hooch from the school, just going into _Quality Quidditch Supplies_, and a couple of students from other houses.

He spent most of the day buying his school supplies and some new robes, as one set had somehow got ripped at the end of the previous term. There weren't many books he needed – just _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Seven_, _The Final Goblin Battles (1878-1920)_ and a new _Dictionary of Arithmancy_ as his old one was falling apart from overuse. Those obtained, he bedded down for the night in The Leaky Cauldron – even if it wasn't his father's first choice of accommodation.

"Stuff _him_!" he declared as he got into the bed.

"Of course, dear," replied his mirror sleepily.

----------------------------------------------------

Ron Weasley looked up in surprise as a large eagle owl landed imperiously on the desk in his bedroom. "Who are you?" he demanded. The owl merely held out her leg, a letter tied to it, addressed to Harry Potter. Ron removed it and the owl flew off. Ron hurried downstairs to the kitchen of his home, The Burrow, where his best friend Harry Potter was still eating his lunch. "Letter for you," Ron announced, holding it out to him. "Some owl brought it. I didn't recognise it, and I also don't recognise the handwriting."

Harry barely paid any attention to these last comments as he unrolled the parchment.

__

Potter –

Meet me tomorrow (Thursday) at noon in The Leaky Cauldron. This is urgent and YOU MUST COME BY YOURSELF.

DM 

Harry frowned. He only knew one person who had those initials, and also who would refer to him as 'Potter' – Draco Malfoy. What could _he_ possibly want?

"Anything wrong, Harry?" inquired Mrs. Weasley, seeing the black-haired boy's confused expression.

Hastily Harry shook his head. "No. I just have to meet … someone … in Diagon Alley tomorrow. On my own." He stood up. "Want a game of chess, Ron?"

Ron looked somewhat surprised, and Harry couldn't really blame him – he always beat Harry, so why was Harry the one to suggest it? He dismissed the thought, deciding that Harry would tell him in his own time. "Why not?"

They left the kitchen and went up to Ron's room. Ron got out the chess set and looked expectantly at Harry. "You wanted to get out of there quickly," he commented lightly. "Do you really have to meet someone?"

"Yes, Ron, I do. And don't question me about it, please," said Harry shortly. He ordered a pawn to move.

"Why not?" persisted Ron.

"Because."

Ron snorted. "That's not a reason."

Harry shrugged. "It's going to have to do, whether you like it or not." He didn't want to say too much, knowing that Ron would go ballistic if he even suspected that Harry was going to see their sworn enemy of six years. No, it was best left alone.

----------------------------------------------------

Harry arrived in Diagon Alley courtesy of some of the Weasleys' Floo powder, ensuring that he shouted out the words clearly – he wasn't about to end up in Knockturn Alley again!

He took in the quieter-than-normal atmosphere, noticing, as Draco had done, the small groups talking quietly amongst themselves, reminding himself that soon it would be a lot more hectic, filled with students getting books, robes, Quidditch supplies, potion ingredients and more.

The Leaky Cauldron, in contrast to the alley, was as busy as ever, and it took Harry several minutes to find Malfoy, who was hidden in a dark corner, wearing dark clothes and a hooded cloak, the latter of which obscured his face almost entirely. _All he needs is a pipe, and I'd be looking at Strider the Ranger in 'The Prancing Pony'_, Harry thought wryly. His other best friend, bookworm Hermione Granger, had ordered him to read Tolkien's books in the summer between his fifth and sixth years ("You don't have any homework, so at least read _something_ to make sure you don't get out of the habit!" she'd written in the copy of _The Hobbit_ that she'd sent him for his sixteenth birthday, along with a copy of _The Lord of the Rings_). She's also ordered Ron to read the books, but Harry knew for a fact that he hadn't done – they were on the top of his wardrobe in his bedroom, collecting dust. Harry hoped for Ron's sake that she wouldn't find them.

Harry stood by the table. "Malfoy," he greeted, his tone low and neutral.

Draco looked up. "Potter." He nodded at the high-backed bench opposite him. "You'd better take a seat."

Harry obligingly sat. "What the hell's going on, Malfoy?" he hissed, leaning across the table so his face was close to Draco's.

"It's to do with everyone's favourite Dark Lord."

Harry remained impassive.

Draco took a deep breath. "This summer, we've had a mysterious guest staying with us. Apparently he's a 'friend' of my father's. I've never seen him; he only emerges when I'm safely out of the way. I'm pretty certain it's You-Know-Who."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "And you're telling me this – _why_?"

"I can hardly go telling Crabbe and Goyle! They'd blurt it out everywhere!" retorted Draco. After a moment's pause, he lowered his voice again. "I'm sure you've suspected for a long time, but Father wants me to join him as a Death Eater."

"I thought that was what you wanted?"

Draco shrugged wearily. "I don't know any more. I'm not sure I do."

Harry eyes him suspiciously. "How do I know you're telling the truth, Malfoy? You're not exactly famous for it."

"So try me with Veritaserum, Harry," replied Draco calmly. "_Any_ truth potion. You can get them here in Diagon Alley. Go ahead; I don't mind."

That did it for Harry. Malfoy would _never_ take a truth potion voluntarily, unless he was genuinely telling the truth. And he wouldn't call him Harry, either. "So what do you want from me, Malfoy?" he asked finally.

"A truce. I'm not going over to the Dark Side. I'm _not_!" said Draco fiercely. "My father wants me to be just like _him_, but it's taken me seventeen and a half years to realise that that's exactly how I _don't _want to be!" The numerous bruises on his body, hidden from view, and his sore wrist, were testament to that – specifically, a 'fall' down the stairs, which Draco did not want to disclose to Harry. "I _hate_ the man!"

"Well, what do you expect _me_ to do?" asked Harry helplessly.

"Agree to a truce. Please, Harry." Draco held out a hand and Harry reluctantly shook it, a wry grin on his face. "Ron and Hermione will go mental," he remarked.

Draco nodded sadly. "I expect they will. And Harry?"

"Yes?"

"It's Joseph Flint that we have to watch. Closely. I've heard various rumours about him in Slytherin."

"Marcus Flint's brother? Fifth-year Slytherin?"

"The one and only. But he mustn't know anyone's onto him," added Draco hastily. "If he knows, he won't hesitate in using Avada Kedavra on either of us."

Harry shuddered. He wondered that if, such a situation were to arise, whether he'd be able to deflect it – after all, it wouldn't be Voldemort performing the Unforgivable.

"Harry, don't tell Weasley or Granger or _anyone_ about Flint or the truce!" Draco pleaded desperately. "Not yet."

"I still don't know if I can trust you myself yet!" retorted Harry.

"Fair point," conceded Draco. "Anyway, like I said, try me with any truth potion you like."

Harry nodded slowly. "I s'pose I'd better trust you, then. We have to be united in these dark times, to quote McGonagall last year."

Draco stood. "I have to get back. I expect I'll see you on the train."

"Don't you always?" retorted Harry, though not unpleasantly like he would have done in the past. He watched Draco walk away, sitting and thinking. Wasn't this all a little too easy? Now that he had gone, Malfoy didn't seem as genuine as he had done. What had made him say this? He'd always talked about joining Voldemort (though, being Draco Malfoy, he never said so in as many words). He'd always appeared to relish it.

So why the sudden change of heart? Was Malfoy trying to lull him into a false sense of security? Was it a trap, arranged by Voldemort, in the hope of ensnaring Harry? And if so, why was Malfoy being so open about Voldemort staying in his home?

With these troubled thoughts, Harry returned to The Burrow, the uneasy truce weighing heavily on his mind.

----------------------------------------------------

"Have you obtained all that you need?" demanded Lucius, a few hours after Draco returned home. The seventeen-year-old nodded dutifully and handed the remaining money over to his father, who snatched it out of his hand. "None of those disgusting Mudbloods about, I hope?" There was a distinct sneer in Lucius's quiet, cold voice.

Draco shook his head. "Give it a week or two or so, and then Diagon Alley will be _swarming_ with them."

Narcissa, Draco's mother, appeared in the doorway of Draco's bedroom. "The Crabbes and the Goyles will be here at six, for dinner. However, Vincent and Gregory are unable to attend. I understand there was an accident with the chess set." She sniffed disdainfully.

Draco snorted with laughter. He was amazed that either of them had any idea how to play. He'd given up all attempts to teach them back in their third year.

"Draco, I am still expecting _you_ to attend," said Narcissa sharply. She turned to Lucius and lowered her voice. "You were going to speak to him about…?"

"Not yet." Lucius's tone was short, curt. "Leave him be for the moment." He closed Draco's bedroom door behind him as they left their son to his own devices. Alone now, Draco sat down heavily on his four-poster bed. _Why_ was he so uncertain about this all of a sudden? He'd always been taught that Muggle-born and half-Muggle 'Mudblood' children were inferior and should be treated so; that certain wizarding families, such as his own, were better than others such as the Weasleys, because they had far more money and believed in purity of blood; and that Voldemort was their best – and only – hope. He'd always believed it before now.

Until now. He didn't understand the sudden change in his mind and heart. _If only Father could hear me now!_ Draco laughed bitterly to himself. He knew what his father would do – make sure he could never have such thoughts again.

----------------------------------------------------

Harry was staring moodily out of the kitchen window at The Burrow, attempting to sort out the mass of confused thoughts whirling around his skull, but the more he tried, the more bewildered he became. There was definitely something different about Malfoy – and it wasn't just the bruise near the pureblooded boy's left eye.

"Well?" demanded Ron, abruptly snapping Harry out of his thoughts.

"_Well_, what?" shot back Harry tetchily.

"_Well_, how did this mystery meeting go?" Ron was jiggling from foot to foot impatiently.

"Oh, that. It was fine," said Harry vaguely, returning his gaze to the wild garden, watching the gnomes pottering about.

"So aren't you going to elaborate?" persisted Ron.

"No. So just drop it. End of conversation."

----------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------

****

TBC


	2. Term Begins

Reaching Maturity

Disclaimer: Not mine, never were, never will be. So don't sue. I can lay claim to Michael Feeney, though.

****

A/N: This is chapter 2. As stated in chapter 1, this is ignoring events in OotP, and so certain people are alive and Mrs. Figg is a witch, not a Squib. I am also ignoring Harry's brief relationship with a certain Ravenclaw (as you'll find out). And DADA is compulsory for all seven years now, given the circumstances in the wizarding world. Enjoy!

Author thanks at the bottom.

----------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------

Chapter 2: Term Begins

Ron was relieved when September 1st eventually arrived. Ever since the meeting, Harry had been moody and quiet, even when he, Ron, Ron's parents and Ron's sixth-year sister Ginny had all met Hermione in Diagon Alley to buy their school supplies, and he had not disclosed whom it was he had met.

Hermione was already on Platform 9 ¾ when Harry and the Weasleys arrived through the barrier. "About time, too!" she huffed. "The train's due to leave in fifteen minutes!"

"We had to go back for one of my books," admitted Ron guiltily.

"_Ron_! You're a _prefect_!" admonished Hermione. "You're supposed to Set A Good Example To The Younger Students!"

"There's plenty of time yet before the train leaves!" protested Ron. He and Harry exchanged looks. Both had seen the gleaming Head Girl badge pinned to Hermione's blue top. Not that they were particularly surprised; they'd known right from the start of their first year that Hermione would be Head Girl. "Who's Head Boy?"

"Anthony Goldstein, from Ravenclaw," answered Hermione. "And you're Quidditch captain for Gryffindor, Harry, seeing as Katie left last year?"

"I am," confirmed the bespectacled boy as he and Ron loaded their trunks onto the train. "As well as sub-Prefect for Gryffindor." As one of the two sub-Prefects (Chris Moon of Ravenclaw apparently being the other), Harry had fewer responsibilities and did not have to attend meetings. Sub-prefects existed more to provide additional support for their House; there were two for seventh-year, one each for the Houses that had the Head Boy and Girl. "Come on, let's get on." He glanced around for Malfoy, but didn't spot him anywhere.

"Someone's in a hurry," remarked Hermione shrewdly, earning a glare from Harry. She'd had a letter from Ron without Harry knowing, to warn her of his moodiness. He'd mentioned the mystery visit and she regarded him discreetly now. She'd seen him looking for someone, and suspected that he was looking for Malfoy, assuming that he was hoping to avoid him. She had no reason to think otherwise.

Ginny had by now left them for her own friends as they looked for an empty compartment. There were none; most held groups of chattering and laughing students, or terrified first-years, except for one near the back of the train, which contained a sleeping man in the corner. His soft brown hair was streaked with grey, his face was thin and his robes were worn and patched. The man's bag was also worn and old.

"Professor Lupin!" exclaimed Ron loudly.

Lupin stirred and slowly opened his eyes. "Ron, Hermione, Harry!" he greeted them enthusiastically, waking up properly. "I haven't seen you for ages!"

"Are you taking over Defence Against the Dark Arts again?" asked Hermione curiously, sitting down opposite the man.

Lupin nodded. "I understand my predecessor had an encounter with a Dementor and came off rather badly?"

Ron snorted. "It was his own fault. He was incompetent and he didn't seem to know about Patronuses."

Lupin tutted. "Dear, dear. Anyway, Dumbledore asked me back. Lack of applicants and all that. Said I was the only half-competent person around to teach it, along with Arabella Figg, who came out of retirement especially for this year. Severus, naturally, wasn't too happy, but he didn't have any say in the matter."

"We have _two_ teachers?" asked Ron in amazement.

Hermione elbowed him. "Don't be so _thick_!" she hissed.

Ron's cheeks went as red as his hair. "Sorry, Professor!" he apologised hastily. "I – er – I forgot for a moment. Sorry."

"Accepted." Lupin waved the apology aside. His face grew serious. "Hogwarts is one of the very few safe places for me now. There's no way of knowing who is siding with whom. I've been living in my parents' old house, but I can't do so any longer, especially as I've been informed by reliable sources that some Death Eaters are hunting me down. Pettigrew's probably one of them; I'd be very surprised if he wasn't, if I'm honest." He turned to Harry, who had claimed the corner and was gazing blankly out of the window as the train began to move. "You're quiet, Harry."

"He's been like this ever since he went to Diagon Alley three weeks ago to meet someone. Won't say who it was or tell me anything," said Ron shortly.

"Because it's none of your business and you wouldn't understand anyway!" Harry snapped angrily. "So just shut up and keep out of it!" He slumped back down into his corner, falling silent once more.

Hermione put a restraining hand on Ron's arm. "Leave it," she ordered.

"Malfoy hasn't been along yet to launch his usual attack," commented Ron. "Hey, Harry, it wasn't _him_ you were meeting was it?!"

Of course not!" retorted Harry, lying through his teeth. _If only they knew_, he thought to himself. _If only they knew_.

----------------------------------------------------

At the feast that evening after the Sorting, Harry glanced across the Great Hall to the Slytherin table. There was no mistaking Joseph Flint. He was virtually identical to his older brother – tall, large front teeth, dark brown hair, dark eyes and a permanent sneer on his face.

Harry also noticed Malfoy sitting closer to the head of the table than Flint, amongst the other seventh-years. The blond-haired boy gave him a small smile when his grey eyes met Harry's green ones. He looked miserable – not that Harry was surprised, given that Malfoy had Pansy Parkinson sitting next to him, her bright pink painted talons firmly clamped to Draco's upper arm, a silly simper on her face. _Enough to make _any_ boy miserable_! thought Harry wryly.

The chatter at the Gryffindor table washed right over him, and Colin Creevey's camera going off multiple times along the length of the house table (rather than just in Harry's face) failed to snap him out of his thoughts as he watched Malfoy. He looked uncomfortable sitting at his table and Harry briefly entertained the idea of snatching a quick word with him. He dismissed it immediately, though; it would be too obvious that their relationship had changed, something that Malfoy couldn't risk at this point – especially if the Slytherins were hanging around. Sending a note by owl (although not his own, Hedwig, as it would be too conspicuous) would be the best means of communication between the two.

----------------------------------------------------

Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall was the first lesson for the Gryffindors, which they had with the Hufflepuffs. They got a long lecture on how important the NEWTs were to their futures, whatever career they chose. This lesson was followed by Lupin's DADA, which Gryffindor had with Slytherin. Lupin was popular amongst the Gryffindors, and even the Slytherins tolerated him after having received a lecture the previous evening from Professor Snape, their house head.

Lupin scanned the room quickly from his place at the front of the room. "Where is Lavender Brown?" He was greeted by a heavy silence. "Anyone?"

Parvati Patil, another Gryffindor girl, hesitantly raised her hand. "Christmas holidays of sixth year, there was a Death Eater attack on her home … They killed her, her parents and her sister."

Lupin's face darkened. "Thank you, Parvati." He picked up the book no his desk. "Turn to page five hundred and three, please. You'll find a picture of a Basilisk." He briefly let his eyes rest on Harry, who had fought one in his second year, and Hermione, who had been Petrified by one a few months before then. "You wouldn't stand much chance against one of these, something that I'm sure you are all only too aware of. Please read the section and make _detailed_ notes from it, and we'll then have a discussion on how to deal with them, should you ever encounter one. I'll answer any questions you might have." He glanced around the room. "Not working, Draco? Or do you know it all already?"

Draco flushed, embarrassed at being pulled up for not working. He had been thinking about the letter he had received from his father that morning at breakfast, brought by Hecate. He hadn't liked it one bit: _Your marks must improve. You cannot allow a filthy Mudblood like Granger to do better than you – purebloods, and especially Malfoys, should prove themselves to be above scum like her…We were in contact with the Parkinsons yesterday…Miss Parkinson certainly has the correct ideas…_(something which had caused Draco to shudder)_…Our guest is as keen as I for you to join our select group…_

He had to talk to Harry, so when he knew nobody was looking (a rare occurrence in Slytherin), he scribbled a brief note for the Gryffindor and, at the end of the lesson when everyone made a dash for the door, Draco collided with Harry and pushed the note into his hand. His next lesson was Herbology, with Hufflepuff, and he was usually partnered with Pansy (not through his own choice), who was becoming more and more attached to him. She was like a limpet now, and he hated it. He could hardly ever get away from her. He'd never actually liked her (his father had ordered him to take her to the Yule Ball in their fourth year) and everyone seemed convinced that the pair would be getting married once they left Hogwarts. Harry and Cho Chang, a Ravenclaw from the year above, were practically engaged, despite early hiccups. Granger and Weasley had gone out for a while in their sixth year, but Weasley had got jealous over Granger's friendship with Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Quidditch player (there was nothing more than friendship) and they had broken up in January.

Draco knew that he and Pansy simply did not complement one another, but because she was pureblooded, from a rich family and a Slytherin, it was assumed that they would marry. _Even though I'm far more intelligent than she is, we have completely different interests, I don't fancy her…_It was all his father's doing, of course. Everything always was.

He avoided the Great Hall at lunch, obtaining something from the kitchens instead. After Herbology, in which Sprout had partnered them for the year and put Draco with Hufflepuff prefect Hannah Abbott, he stormed out of Greenhouse Six and out into the school grounds. He was relieved that Pansy did not attempt to follow him; he wanted to be alone. He had a lot to think about.

----------------------------------------------------

Harry waited until everyone else had left the Gryffindor common room for bed that night, and, when his watch told him that it was eleven-twenty pm, he threw on his Invisibility Cloak and left the tower. He stole up to the Owlery, encountering no teachers at all (for once). Malfoy was waiting for him by the window, and he wordlessly handed over his father's letter to Harry. Harry read it, his hatred of Lucius Malfoy growing with every sentence. "Is your father always like this?"

Malfoy rested his arms on the window ledge and gazed out across the school grounds, the light breeze from the glassless window blowing his blond hair into his eyes. "Yep. Always. Such a _wonderful_ man." He fingered a new bruise on his cheek. "So don't wonder why I'm so bitter and prejudiced and full of hatred. I've never known anything else. I don't blame you for hating me. It's what I deserve, after all. And you hate my father – join the club. And now I've turned out just like him. Excellent."

"I thought you wanted to be just like him?" said Harry, puzzled. "You were always going on about how wonderful he was."

"We've already _had _this conversation, Potter!" Draco snapped irritably. "Look, I _used_ to be like that. I'm not any more. Ever since we got our OWL results between fifth and sixth year, I've been Public Enemy Number One at home – yes, I _know_ that's a Muggle phrase, but I really don't care right now – and it's why I stayed at school for Christmas of sixth year. I keep getting told that I'm 'letting the family name down', or words to that effect. Not that it _can_ go much lower thanks to my _dear_ ancestors." He snorted derisively and shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe I'm having a civil conversation with _Harry Potter_, of all people. Mind you, I don't know where I belong now, so I may as well talk civilly to you."

"Well, I reckon you don't belong with Pansy Parkinson," remarked Harry teasingly.

Draco shuddered. "Please, Potter. _Don't_."

"Why me, though? Why, of all the people in Hogwarts and the wizarding world in general, did you choose to talk to _me_?" asked Harry.

"You're the only one who might listen to me, who'll hear me out, who I can trust. I'd go to Snape because I think you and he are on the same side, but my father's adamant that he's a loyal Death Eater and that he's convinced Dumbledore that he's 'reformed' even though he hasn't. The latter of which, personally, I don't happen to believe."

A nearby yowl rang through the tower.

"Mrs. Norris!" hissed Draco, panicked. Where Mrs. Norris the cat was, caretaker Argus Filch was sure to be close behind. Harry grabbed his Invisibility Cloak and threw it over both of them. "Into the corner by the cupboard! _Quick_!" he hissed, just in time. The door creaked open and Filch slowly walked in, the aforementioned cat just in front of him. She immediately turned her baleful, yellow, lamplike eyes in the direction of the two seventh-year boys, who froze, holding their breath.

Filch took his time in swinging his lantern around the circular room. He scowled. "Just the birds, my sweet," he said to his cat as a crash echoed up from down in the main castle. He spun round so he was facing the door again. "Is that Peeves again? If he's wrecked the Trophy Room again…" he muttered to himself, "I'll have him _out_ of Hogwarts for _good_."

Once his footsteps had dies away, Harry relaxed and removed the Cloak. "That was close."

Draco nodded in agreement. "Can that cat see through that?" he asked anxiously, pointing to the Cloak.

"I'm not sure. Maybe she can just smell us," replied Harry uncertainly, biting his lip. "I've had more than enough encounters with her."

"Perhaps," agreed Draco, taking several deep breaths to regain his normal breathing pattern. "I don't think I could've held my breath for much longer."

"We were talking about relationships," said Harry. "Anyone you _do_ like, seeing as we've established that you can't bear Pansy?" He grinned mischievously.

Draco hesitated, visibly tensing. "There is, but she wouldn't look twice at me. After all, I'm a _Slytherin_ and a _Malfoy_." He spat out the two pronouns in disgust. "I wouldn't blame her, if I'm honest. Don't tell _anyone_, Potter!"

"As long as it's not Cho."

Malfoy shook his head. "Not a Ravenclaw, actually."

Hedwig fluttered in at that moment and settled on a perch near to Harry, a letter tied to her leg. The parchment was poor quality and ink had soaked through to the other side. Harry removed it and unfolded it, reading it in silence.

__

Harry –

Be cautious – although I can hardly say I'm surprised (this is LM, after all). It sounds as though his child may be right about the thing you mentioned in your last note. And I wouldn't call it a happy home. Hear the child out. Please. He may know more about the topic we discussed last time we met, than he realises.

Good to see Moony back at the school; it's the only safe place for him.

Take care, now.

S 

Harry glanced up at the other boy. "From my godfather," he said.

"I heard a rumour that your godfather's Sirius Black."

Harry nodded. "He's actually innocent. He _tried_ to kill Peter Pettigrew, who was _actually_ the one who betrayed my parents, but Pettigrew escaped _and_ he was the one who blew up that Muggle street. _He_ was the only murderer that day. Then he went back to his precious master, _Voldemort_," he spat, his facial expression far beyond loathing. Draco shivered involuntarily; it reminded him of his father's face whenever he looked at an unfortunate house-elf, and Harry using Voldemort's name instead of 'You-Know-Who' certainly did nothing to help matters.

Harry glanced at his watch. "Look, it's gone midnight now. We need to get back to bed. Filch is bound to back up here soon. You don't have an Invisibility Cloak."

Draco shrugged. "I've learned to melt into the shadows and be unseen. It's something you learn if you have Snape as your head-of-house – he's a master of it. Seriously, Harry, don't worry about me. I'll be fine. If the worst comes to the worst, I'll run for it. I'm faster than Filch _and_ Mrs. Norris."

They parted at the bottom of the tower, Harry to Gryffindor and Draco to Slytherin.

----------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------

TBC

****

Author thanks:

Lucidity: all will become clear in due course. Have patience – this is a 32-chapter fic!!

Riob: my first review!!! Thankies!! This is indeed the really long one I was writing 2 ½ years ago in Year 12 that you read. It's markedly different from that version, though.

Tinorial Peredhil: (takes away sugar) Calm!! There's 30 more chapters to this fic, so make your sugar last! I'll ration it out to you.

The elven princess: I'm pleased about your comment about this being 'different'; it means I'm not doing the standard format for a fic! I hope this continues to appeal to you and that you'll enjoy the whole 32 chapters!

Scribe of Gryffindor: I think I'm averaging about 3,000 words per chapter (this one's 2,800 or so), could you perhaps enlighten me as to where exactly in chapter 1 I'm switching tenses? It may be that I've just hit the 's' key on the keyboard instead of the 'd' key (seeing as they're next to each other it's easily done).


	3. Lucius Visits

Reaching Maturity

Disclaimer: I'm hoping you've already read the previous two chapters, but for the record – THEY AIN'T MINE.

****

A/N: For the record, I did not have any idea as to how the grading system worked, so I'm using the Muggle A-F method that most people understand. And I didn't know how the subjects would work out, so most people do most subjects. Draco's been forced to take Care of Magical Creatures by his father.

****

A/N 2: I know the Quidditch season doesn't start this early in the term, but tryouts don't need to be held this year. Tough if you don't like it.

----------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------

Chapter 3: Lucius Visits

The next two weeks passed uneventfully, with a regular routine of lessons, homework, lectures from Hermione aimed at Harry and Ron for not doing homework immediately, and Quidditch practice for the two boys. Harry and Draco traded their usual insults whenever the opportunity arose, although both were fully aware that it was only to avoid suspicion – particularly from the Slytherins, who would no doubt report any odd behaviour on Draco's part to Lucius, via their own parents. The first time Draco had made one of his standard insults, he gave Harry a meaningful look that clearly told the Gryffindor that he hadn't meant it, and that Harry should play along. Neither Ron nor, surprisingly, Hermione, had picked up on this, something for which Harry was extremely grateful.

Hermione was too wrapped up in schoolwork and the responsibilities that being Head Girl brought – and she was spending a lot of time with Anthony Goldstein, some of which Harry suspected (none too happily) was most definitely _not_ school-related, especially as her cheeks acquired a pink tinge whenever she spoke of him. She also insisted on sitting by him in the lessons that they shared, "for the benefit of inter-house relations". Harry and Ron stopped believing her after the first week of term, when they had seen the two walking in the grounds – holding hands!

Halfway through September, Neville Longbottom, another Gryffindor seventh-year, was summoned home unexpectedly. Nobody knew why (except perhaps the headmaster, Albus Dumbledore). Harry and Ron found Neville in their dormitory, packing a small bag. Since their fifth year, he had made up a foursome with Harry, Ron and Hermione, and the four were reasonably close. Neville was currently dating Lisa Turpin, a seventh-year Ravenclaw, and had recently begun to spend rather less time with the other three because of it.

"What's going on, Neville?" asked Ron in concern.

Neville looked anxious. "Pass me that T-shirt, Harry. I got a letter. My gran wants me to go home for a few days. Someone got into St. Mungo's…They – they tried to kill my parents." All the Gryffindor boys now knew the truth about why Neville lived with his strict grandmother, as he had told them the truth in November of their sixth year.

"Are your parents OK?" asked Harry. "I mean, they're not dead?"

Neville shook his head. "Maybe it would be better if they were, though," he whispered, turning away momentarily to compose himself. When he turned back to face his friends, he looked calmer. "I'm ready to go now. I'll see you soon." He picked up his bag and left the dorm, Harry and Ron watching in silence.

----------------------------------------------------

Potions in Snape's dungeon was tenser than usual. Snape was even more irritable than he had been in previous years (not that Harry blamed him, given the situation in the wizarding world in general and also Snape's own precarious position) and, with no Neville to constantly pick on, the Gryffindors were especially on edge.

Snape's new victim turned out to be Seamus Finnigan, mainly because of his tendency to be careless – and also to blow things up. Harry had been paired with Draco at the front of the room for the year (done so deliberately by Snape) and the two set to work on a complex numbing potion. Hermione had been put with Parvati, and Ron's partner was Dean Thomas, the other Gryffindor boy (Seamus would normally be with Neville).

Snape walked around the room as his students worked, praising the Slytherins and criticising the Gryffindors, as was his way, and stopped in front of Harry and Draco. "Not trading insults for once?" he inquired softly, so that only the two he was addressing heard his words.

Harry nearly stopped breathing, having no idea how to reply to this. Fortunately Draco came to the rescue. "I'm too tired to bother today, Professor. Peeves was making a lot of noise near the dormitories last night. You know what he's like."

Snape curled his upper lip in distaste. The previous May, the mischievous poltergeist had gone into the Potions classroom, smashing six cauldrons and leaving all the taps running, just for a joke. Snape had not seen the funny side of it. "Yes, I do know," he replied shortly. The two boys saw his obsidian eyes quickly glance to the shelf where only three of the cauldrons so far had been replaced (magically repaired ones were never quite the same and they had a tendency to leak).

There was a hiss from behind Harry and Draco, and Snape, sighing, walked off to impatiently explain – yet again – to Crabbe and Goyle just exactly why the dragon heartstrings should never be added before the holly berries. Harry bent over his book. "Thanks," he muttered to Draco.

"You'd've done the same," replied Draco, equally quietly, "given the circumstances."

Harry agreed that he probably would. He also knew that reminding Snape of the cauldron incident was a good distraction and a deliberate one on Draco's part.

A firm knock sounded on the door at that point, causing everyone to look up. Snape turned from where he was scowling at Pansy Parkinson's pitiful attempt at the set potion and called, "Enter!"

Dumbledore stepped in. "Severus, would you object to my borrowing Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco looked up nervously, wondering just what it was that he had done now. "What for?" he asked, exchanging a puzzled look with Harry.

"I think that that is best between you and me, in my office," answered Dumbledore. "Now, I advise you to pack your bag as I do not think that you will be returning before the end of the lesson. Perhaps you could see Professor Snape within the next few days to arrange a catching-up session."

Obediently Draco did so, knowing better than to argue with the headmaster, and wordlessly followed him to his office. When they arrived at their destination, Dumbledore sent Draco in alone. There was a tall man already in the room, his back to the door, his long blond hair tied back from his face by a black silk ribbon. He turned around when the door shut behind Draco.

"Father!" exclaimed Draco in surprise. "W-what are you doing here?"

"I have come to inform you of a recent occurrence," replied Lucius Malfoy calmly. "It concerns your mother. She has…disappeared."

Draco stared at him.

"It is probable," continued Lucius, "that she was taken by employees of certain branches of the Ministry of Magic."

Still Draco did not speak, and Lucius allowed himself a small smile. "I am glad to see that you are not letting any silly emotions get the better of you," he remarked casually. "We cannot tolerate such weaknesses in the ranks."

"Don't you care about her at _all_?" demanded Draco angrily, temper flaring.

Lucius arched one aristocratic eyebrow. "I would keep that mouth of yours _shut_ if I were you, Draco," he advised calmly.

"You didn't answer my question."

Lucius suddenly lunged at him and struck him across the face, catching Draco off-balance and sending him to the floor, where he lay, momentarily stunned. "You really are _pathetic_," sneered the elder Malfoy. "You're a disgrace to purebloods and most especially to the family name!" He spun on his heel and marched out. Draco hesitantly put his hand to his forehead, and when he removed it, there was blood on his fingertips.

----------------------------------------------------

Neither Harry nor Ron did much homework that evening, mainly because Harry had called a Quidditch practice. Ron was Keeper, Seamus and Dean were excellent Beaters (even if Seamus did lose his composure occasionally), and Ginny, third-year Theresa Calderbrook and fourth-year Dai Evans were the Chasers.

As usual, Madam Hooch, who was in charge of all things relating to brooms, flying and Quidditch, supervised the practice, She had decided to do so partway through Harry's sixth year, after a Hufflepuff Beater had accidentally flown out of the arena and into the Forbidden Forest, pursued by the Bludger he was supposed to hit. It had been several hours before the panicked Hufflepuff Keeper had gone for help, and Hooch had claimed 'health and safety reasons' for her supervision.

When the boys returned to the Gryffindor common room and flopped, exhausted, into comfy chairs, Hermione promptly put in an appearance and proceeded to lecture them on how they really should do their homework because what if they failed all their NEWTs and ended up spending the rest of their lives delivering _The Daily Prophet_, like Crabbe and Goyle most likely would? Ron retorted that one bit of homework wouldn't have that big an impact on his NEWTs, and _anyway_, the work wasn't due in for another week. Hermione got huffy and told him to remember that the night before it was due in and he still hadn't done it and wanted to copy hers. Ron snidely shot back that he supposed that Anthony Goldstein would have done his homework _before_ Quidditch practice, had he been on the Ravenclaw team, and Hermione's face turned pink.

Harry, shaking his head in amusement, left the room whilst the two were still arguing and went to Dumbledore's office. "Canary Creams," he said confidently, knowing that this was Dumbledore's new password. The headmaster was in his office and he looked up from the book he was reading as Harry entered. "Harry. What has brought you here?"

Harry stared at his feet. "Is – is Malfoy OK? He never showed up for the afternoon lesson we have with Slytherin."

There was a look of amusement in Dumbledore's twinkling blue eyes and he put down the book. "Dear, dear, what _is_ the world coming to? Harry Potter expressing concern for Draco Malfoy?"

Harry shrugged uncomfortably, knowing that Dumbledore had a very good point. "It's complicated and, well, I can't really discuss it right now, sir."

Dumbledore nodded understandingly. "Fair enough, Harry. The truth is, he's had a bit of a nasty shock, and I sent him to the hospital wing to calm down." He rose from his seat. "In fact, I think I'll come with you to see Poppy. There's a chance I may have a cold coming on and I really don't want one when I have tickets for Puddlemere United's match this weekend." He winked at Harry, and Harry grinned.

Harry followed him down to the hospital wing and hid behind a suit of armour while Dumbledore distracted Madam Pomfrey. The 'situation' was duly explained, sending Pomfrey into a long tirade about why Quidditch was bad for a person's health. Dumbledore winked at Harry and the seventh-year slipped into the hospital wing undetected by Pomfrey. It was easy to find Draco, as he was the only one there. He was sitting on a bed and looking extremely bored. A small gauze dressing covered one side of his paler-than-normal face, and a few drops of dried blood still clung to his white-blond hair.

"Malfoy," acknowledged Harry.

Draco looked up. "What do you want, Potter?" he snapped. "Leave me alone. Have you come to say I'm a disgrace to the family as well? That I'm pathetic and useless? Because if you have, save it. I've heard it all before. Save it for someone else." He turned away, back rigid and hands clenched into tight fists.

"I don't know what the _hell_ that was about, Malfoy, and I haven't come to say anything of the sort!" he retorted. "Perhaps I shouldn't have come, seeing as all I got was a load of abuse off you!" He turned as if to leave, an action which had the desired effect.

Draco whirled round, standing now. "My mother's gone _missing_, Potter!" he hissed. "And my father couldn't care less. _Happy_ now?" he stormed over to the window and stared unseeingly out of it, making it clear that the conversation was over.

Harry scowled and stalked out of the hospital wing, hands shoved deep into his robes, vowing never to be nice to Malfoy again. _Leopards don't change their spots_, he thought angrily. _It's just another one of Malfoy's unfunny 'jokes'_.

Because he had left, he didn't see the tears slip slowly down Draco's face as he remained at the window, never bothering to wipe them away.

----------------------------------------------------

"Where'd you get to?" asked Ron when Harry returned to the common room. He had his Transfiguration notes spread out in front of him, but he hadn't done any work since Harry's departure, as far as the black-haired boy could tell.

"I thought you were too busy scrapping with Hermione over McGonagall's homework to notice me going out," remarked Harry lightly, sitting down on the other side of the small table so that he was sitting opposite Ron.

"Hermione went to the library," explained Ron, pulling a face. "Some study session with Anthony Goldstein. I need someone to play Exploding Snap with that's not Ginny because she always slaughters me. Anyway, where _did_ you go?"

"Just for a wander down to the Quidditch pitch, seeing as we play Hufflepuff this Saturday," answered Harry. "It was getting stuffy in here. I wanted some fresh air."

"Oh. Okay."

It wasn't a lie; Harry _had _been down there after he'd been to see Malfoy – but Ron didn't need to know that. _What he doesn't know won't hurt him_, Harry decided as he got out his Transfiguration homework.

Ron groaned. "Not you as _well_!" he exclaimed in dismay.

"Displacement activity, I think it's called," Harry told him. "Stops me thinking about Saturday, gives me something else to concentrate on. If I have to think about Transfiguration then I can't think about the match as well. _Therefore_, I won't be getting myself worked up about the match. See?"

"Hmph." Ron wasn't convinced, but Harry didn't care. Anything to stop him thinking about the match could only be a good thing. Doing the homework now rather than leaving it also held the guarantee that Hermione wouldn't be hassling him to do it.

The only trouble with this particular subject was that it made him think about McGonagall's lesson, and McGonagall was head of Gryffindor – which made him think about the match again. Harry threw down his quill in frustration. "Get the Exploding Snap out, Ron. I can't do Transfiguration this close to a match, not with McGonagall being head of Gryffindor and a big Quidditch fan, and all."

A wide grin broke out on Ron's face as he got up. He knew he'd win in the end.

----------------------------------------------------

Saturday came, a gloriously sunny and warm late September day. Harry, even after six years of playing the sport, still got too nervous to eat breakfast. Ron and Seamus were louder than usual (which took some doing, Hermione and Ginny had both remarked dryly), whereas Dean just sailed calmly through the meal, nose deep in the football section of a Muggle paper, searching for anything West Ham-related. Ginny jiggled the bench up and down, bouncing in agitation, Dai attempted to read _The Daily Prophet_ and Theresa went through the motions of moving and eating in a robotic manner.

After breakfast they met in the Gryffindor changing rooms and put on their scarlet and gold Quidditch robes. Harry waited until they were all changed and then stood, facing them all. "We can do this," he declared, sounding far more confident than he felt. "Their Beaters aren't anywhere near as strong as ours." Dean and Seamus dutifully mimicked body-builders flexing their muscles.

"Our Chasers can catch better than _anyone else_ in this school." Ginny's face turned brighter than her hair, and Dai and Theresa also turned pink.

"We have an _excellent_ Keeper in Ron." Ron went even redder than his sister had done.

Harry paused. "And there's me as well," he added as an afterthought.

"Harry, you're the best Seeker Gryffindor's had in _years_!" retorted Ginny. "Have you heard yourself speak? You sound just like you, Fred and George said Oliver Wood did!"

Harry grinned ruefully, recalling Wood's intense team-talks from his first three years at Hogwarts. "Come on. All ready? Then let's knock 'em dead!"

----------------------------------------------------

It wasn't a long match. After twenty minutes, Gryffindor were winning 90-0 and Ron had only had one very easy save to make. Harry was watching the game closely and keeping track of the score, whilst also searching for the small Golden Snitch. The Hufflepuff Seeker was a girl Harry had played against last year, and she wasn't particularly good. Being on a Cleansweep 7 certainly didn't do her any favours, as Harry was on his beloved Firebolt.

Then he saw the Snitch, by Madam Hooch's foot. He promptly dived for it, the Hufflepuff Seeker close behind. She'd never get it…

And it was in his hand. He raised it aloft in triumph and the stands erupted. He scanned the Gryffindors for Hermione and saw her cheering him especially loudly and enthusiastically. Harry smiled even more broadly.

The Hufflepuff players landed despondently on the grass as Harry was mobbed by the other six Gryffindor players, all cheering. _This is brilliant_, thought Harry. _Nothing beats a good win in Quidditch_.

The party in the common room carried on until one in the morning, when McGonagall arrived and ordered them up to bed. "Anyone who is not in bed and asleep in _fifteen minutes_ will lose ten points _and _receive a detention! _Shoo_!" There was a small twinkle in her eyes, though, as she recalled her fifth year, when Gryffindor had won the Quidditch Cup and the resulting party had gone on until six the following morning. The students, of course, did not need to know this.

----------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------

TBC

****

Author thanks:

Lucidity: it's slightly significant that Sirius isn't dead in this fic! Patience! Time will tell whether or not Hermione finds out… ;)

Samhaincat: _when_ are you going to do more to Solstice II???

Dark Borg Drone: I'm continuing!

Scribe of Gryffindor: That was _definitely_ the keyboard, then. Stupid thing. All of these chapters are going to be long (I trust that will make you happy?) I divided the fic up into chapters after I'd written it, so I could only divide it up at appropriate points, which is why the chapter length varies. _(turns as red as a tomato)_ You _really_ know how to praise someone. Wow. Thanks. Yes, Hermione broke up with Ron. And although I think I know where your train of thought is going (it seems to have stopped at the HG/DM station), IT'S WRONG!!!

MagickalStar135: Sirius isn't actually anywhere near my favourite character, but he's kind of important to the plot – which is the main reason why I couldn't make this fic OotP-compatible after she brought OotP out. Ooooh, I hate it when certain websites (mentioning no names) don't let you through!!!

TinorialPeredhil: I told you – I'm going to have to start rationing your sugar intake! I'm afraid I did kill Lavender. She wasn't significant to the story, and I wanted to really bring the war home to the readers. It isn't just vague names with no personal significance any more; it's people Harry and his friends actually know.

Also to Hey,I'mTalkingToYou for chapter 1.


	4. Hallowe'en Ball

Reaching Maturity

Disclaimer: Not mine. Never were, never will be.--sulks--

****

A/N: I need you to remember that I am _not_ complying with all the events in OotP (as this was written 2 years ago) and certain event are thus to be overlooked and belief suspended (you'll know what I mean when you reach the relevant parts)

****

A/N 2: my flatmates and I had a Hallowe'en party at our house. I went as Hermione. I spent most of the weekend making the robes (didn't get the hood on in time but I'll do that for future use). It looks _really_ good!!!

****

Important A/N: I'm away on placement for 6 weeks now. I probably won't have Internet access (although it would be great if I did!) so I'll be updating every Saturday until further notice. I'm doing community neurorehabilitation, if you're interested.

----------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------

Chapter 4: Hallowe'en Ball

Neville arrived back at school the following Wednesday, as September gave way to October. Harry had sent him an owl giving him a move-by-move report of Gryffindor's massacre of Hufflepuff. Neville had replied, informing him that his parents were the same as ever, but that his grandmother was looking frail and ill.

Harry and Malfoy still weren't speaking to each other, even to exchange insults. Malfoy's face had healed, although there was still a mark where Lucius had struck him. He wasn't quite as forthcoming with his standard set of put-downs, either. His self-confidence and arrogance both seemed less than they had been before his father's visit. Harry didn't care; it made his own life, and those of his friends, much better. Unfortunately for the Gryffindors, though, Snape was getting moodier than ever, and even Slytherin students feared for their schoolmarks and housepoint totals.

Hallowe'en was just around the corner, with a Hogsmeade weekend two days before it – an event looked forward to by all from third year and above. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville spent a long time in Honeydukes before going into The Three Broomsticks for hot Butterbeer to warm them up. When Harry went to get the drinks from the bar, he bumped into Malfoy, who grabbed his arm tightly. "Owlery. Quarter to twelve tonight," he hissed while Harry paid.

"Why should I bother?" retorted Harry irritably.

"Just be there." And Malfoy was gone again, melted into the mass of people in the pub.

Harry rejoined his friends, who were still discussing Hufflepuff's win over Ravenclaw (just) the previous day. Malfoy was quickly forgotten about until that evening.

Ron, Hermione and Neville, along with the rest of their house, full to bursting with sweets, retired early to bed, for which Harry was immensely grateful. He went up with the other seventh-year boys and drew the curtains around his bed, listening closely to their breathing to ascertain as to when they fell asleep – something that took a very short time indeed. At eleven-forty, under the safety of his father's Invisibility Cloak, Harry slipped out of Gryffindor's quarters and up to the Owlery.

Malfoy was already there. Harry dropped the Cloak on the floor and folded his arms across his chest. "_Well_?" he demanded impatiently.

Malfoy stared out of the glassless window. "I don't know what to do, Potter. As soon as I leave here I'm due to become a Death Eater and I'll be forced into marriage with Pansy Parkinson. Nobody knows anything about my mother's disappearance – or if they do, they're saying nothing – and my father doesn't care." His voice was flat and monotonous; weary, even. He absentmindedly fingered his face where his father had struck him.

"And he hits you," stated Harry.

"That's not important!" Malfoy hissed. He paused and gripped a nearby owl perch. "I just want to know where my mother is. And I wish I could tell my father to _stuff_ his plans for me. I won't do it. I _won't!_"

Harry took a step back. "Calm down, Draco!" He resisted the temptation to make a rather snide remark about anyone wanting to know the whereabouts of Narcissa Malfoy.

Draco snorted. "Like I can _really_ do _that_, Potter!" He shook his head sadly. "I have no control over my future. My father tells me what to do and I can't rebel; he's impossible to argue with, and it's _never_ a good idea to try. You can't change his mind. Believe me, I've tried." His voice was full of bitterness; bitterness and hatred.

"And what _exactly_ do you plan to do about your mother? Go looking for her by yourself?" Harry demanded sarcastically.

Draco shrugged. "Might do. Might be the only option."

"That's crazy and stupid and you know it! You could be putting yourself in _massive_ danger, especially when you don't know what you could be up against!"

Draco stared at him is disbelief. "Isn't that a bit rich, coming from the person who's fought You-Know-Who on an almost annual basis since coming to Hogwarts?!"

"You think I _enjoyed_ those battles?!" Harry almost shouted, so angry was he.

Draco grabbed Harry tightly around the arm. "Keep your voice down! Do you want Filch to show up again? Well, do you?" he hissed.

Harry yanked his arm away, but realised at the same time that the Slytherin was probably right. "Just don't do anything, Malfoy. You have absolutely no idea where your mother is, nor who's behind it. We don't know if it's the Ministry of Magic, Voldemort, someone else entirely…" He lowered his voice to just above a whisper, just in case Filch was still prowling around nearby.

Draco leaned wearily against the wall. "There has to be some evidence. _Something_ that will tell me where she is or who's got her!" He sounded frantic, desperate. Although he would be the last person to admit it, he did care a great deal for his mother.

Harry thought for a moment. "If I were you, I'd wait till the Christmas holidays. Go home and do some detective work. Send me an owl if you find anything."

"I will." Draco held out his hand hesitantly. "Are – are we OK again?"

Harry nodded and shook the outstretched hand. "Looks like it."

----------------------------------------------------

Hallowe'en was a spectacular event, as befitted Hogwarts tradition. Because it fell on a Monday this year, lessons were cancelled. Hermione grumbled about this, of course – she was the only one to have actually done Flitwick's Charms essay. Ginny was celebrating because she didn't have Potions that morning.

The house-elves yet again excelled themselves in producing an evening feast of "epic" (to quote Ron) proportions. Black and orange decorations bedecked the entire school (except for Snape's dungeons, of course), and the Great Hall was breathtaking, the enchanted ceiling showing a clear sky scattered with stars glittering like tiny diamonds. Before the students ate, the ghosts appeared through one wall and circled the room before seating themselves at their respective House tables. Nearly Headless Nick joined the Gryffindors and put his mouth by Harry's ear. "They still won't let me join the Headless Hunt," he grumbled mutinously.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Are you _still_ sore about that?" he asked wearily.

"I am _nearly_ headless!" said the ghost huffily. "Details, details. Hmph." He turned to talk to Seamus about Quidditch and the World Cup, which was due to be hosted by Ireland (the current holders) the summer after Ginny was due to finish her seventh and final year. Harry was engaged in a discussion about Quidditch tactics with Ron, Ginny and Dean, with Hermione and Neville listening as well.

While they were eating dessert, Nick spoke quietly to Harry again. "Some interesting excursions to the Owlery late at night, wouldn't you say so, young Potter?"

Harry almost choked on his pumpkin pie. "How – how do you know?" he spluttered furiously. "Does anyone _else_ know?"

"Not to worry. Nobody else does; I made sure of that. Don't you think it's rather a coincidence that just when Filch needed distracting, Peeves just _happened_ to choose that moment to cause havoc?"

Harry shrugged. "He's forever doing that _without_ encouragement. Snape still hasn't forgiven him for that cauldron business last May."

"Snape never forgives anyone for anything," Nick pointed out. "Ta-ta for now." He rose and joined all the other ghosts leaving the Hall.

Ron leaned across the table. "What was all that whispering about?"

Harry groaned. "I'll give you three guesses."

"The Headless Hunt? Talk about a grudge!" exclaimed Ron. "Still," he added, lowering his voice, "it's better than listening to Myrtle."

Harry nodded. "Although admittedly only just. At least Nick doesn't flood toilets."

----------------------------------------------------

Draco slowly smoothed out his new dress robes (it was his old ones that had been shrunk). These were dark green and black, simple in design but clearly of the highest quality and tailor-made. Last year, Dumbledore had decided to hold an annual Hallowe'en Ball for the entire school. Draco had enjoyed last year's, as it had been a strictly no-partners event, but this year, Pansy had practically ordered him to be her partner. _So much for the 'no-one tells a Malfoy what to do'_, he thought glumly, casting a final, fleeting glance into his mirror.

He dawdled as he made his way down to the Slytherin common room. Pansy was already waiting (somewhat impatiently) for him, in almost fluorescent pink robes with brown trimmings (a sight that forced Draco to muster all of his Malfoy composure – which was a heck of a lot – to hide his revulsion). She had scraped her hair back into a tight bun and put a pink flower in it. She didn't look at all attractive, but Draco swallowed his true feelings and pasted a smile onto his face. "You look nice," he lied smoothly, offering her his arm (albeit reluctantly). He wondered where she'd bought her robes and vowed that, if he found out, he would never, _ever_ shop there. _Perhaps I should go a step further and burn the place down,_ he mused. _After all, I'd be doing the world a huge favour…_

Pansy giggled (at least, Draco _thought_ it was meant to be a giggle). _What's so funny?_ Draco wondered in confusion as Pansy took his arm, simpering. "You look simply _dashing_," she told him as they headed towards the Great Hall.

Draco felt sick. _Dashing?_ Where the heck had she unearthed _that _word from? He didn't think that it was part of her everyday vocabulary – Pansy simply didn't use words like that. He'd never been described as 'dashing' before, and he wasn't sure he liked it, particularly coming from Pansy. He kept the smile on his face, although how Pansy couldn't detect its complete falseness, he didn't know. _Years of practice_, he supposed, as nobody else seemed to see this, either.

They entered the Hall. The tables were up against the walls, creating a dancing area in the middle, and there were a number of smaller tables with chairs around them, dotted around the Hall. Draco saw his chance and, being Draco, seized it firmly with both hands. "I'll just get us some punch," he told Pansy. "I won't be long, so wait here." He couldn't get away from her fast enough, though he was careful to not let it show. Hopefully, because there were so many students here and he was most definitely not ranked among the tallest, he would be able to keep out of Pansy's way (and her hideous outfit that, quite frankly, made his eyes hurt every time he looked at it) for as long as possible.

Unfortunately for him, Pansy was determined to not leave his side. Draco didn't listen to her chatter (it had never been interesting in the past, so why, he reasoned, would it be any different tonight?) but he was dimly aware of the words 'reception', 'dress', 'ceremony' and 'rings'.

He abruptly stopped walking as the full horror of Pansy's words finally registered. "S – say that again," he croaked, desperate for confirmation that he had _not _had a sudden hearing problem develop.

Pansy looked at him oddly. "Next November," she prompted. "We're getting _married_, remember? It's practically all sorted between our families. I can't wait." She gazed dreamily up at the ceiling, which had clouded over, the clouds a barrier between the students, and the moon and the stars. It matched Draco's mood perfectly. "_I_ never agreed," he protested.

Pansy tittered irritatingly (Draco was starting to realise that just about _everything_ about Pansy irritated him, in varying degrees) and hung on to him even more tightly. "Nervous already? I don't blame you – I have to admit that I am as well. Just a bit, though."

This is not_ happening_, Draco thought desperately. _It _can't _be._ He closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at Pansy's face – or her horrible robes.

----------------------------------------------------

The band (Dumbledore had, once again, booked The Weird Sisters) were playing extremely fast music. Harry occasionally danced with Hermione and Ginny as they were his close friends, although he spent most of the evening with Cho, who had come up to Hogwarts specially. Hermione, Harry couldn't help noticing, seemed glued to Anthony. Harry couldn't work out why it was bothering him so much. He couldn't talk as they danced, though, as Cho was far too busy telling him what he should be doing. Dancing had never been one of his talents, and he suspected that it never would be.

After a while, Harry had had enough _– _and he was sure that Cho had probably had enough of his incompetence on the dancefloor – and suggested a break. Cho agreed, and they sat watching the others for a while. Lupin and Arabella Figg were hopelessly out of time (and didn't seem particularly bothered about that fact), and Professor Trelawney was nowhere to be seen. Harry just caught sight of tiny Professor Flitwick slipping between the dancers and subtly performing a Dancing Feet Charm on Snape as Professor Vector, her patience clearly wearing thin, struggled to get the Potions Master to dance properly. Snape clearly didn't want to be there, judging by the scowl on his face that was more intense than usual, which only intensified when he realised what Flitwick had done. Harry also saw Pansy Parkinson talking to Draco, seemingly oblivious to the expression on his face, which could easily rival Snape's.

The music suddenly slowed and Cho stood up. "I think even _you_ can manage this one, Harry!" she teased lightly, pulling him to his feet. Harry put his arms around her (somewhat awkwardly, it has to be said) and they swayed to the music. The younger students promptly sat down, pulling faces at each other. Harry was just beginning to relax when the ceiling started flashing and rumbling loudly. The Weird Sisters stopped playing and the students froze, all looking up at the storm developing overhead. Moments later, the Hall doors burst open and McGonagall raced in, her hat askew. "Albus!" she called anxiously.

"Minerva?" Dumbledore stepped forwards. "What's happening?"

"_This_," McGonagall announced grimly, indicating the ceiling, "is no ordinary storm. I received an owl just now. V – Voldemort is apparently Hogwarts-bound."

Gasps of horror, dismay and disbelief rang out across the Hall. A first-year girl fainted.

"Where was he last seen?" asked Dumbledore urgently.

"Near Sheffield, earlier today. He's heading north. The owl was anonymous."

Dumbledore caught Harry's eye briefly. _Sirius_, Harry thought. He knew Dumbledore was thinking the same. He watched the headmaster step up onto the front platform. The headmaster cleared his throat and silence fell. "I must stress that there is _no need_ to panic. You all heard what Professor McGonagall said. I cannot hide it, nor deny it." He paused, as if considering something. "If there are reported sightings in the near vicinity of Hogwarts –" here he glanced at Harry again "–you will, of course, be free to leave the school and return home, if your parents inform me that they wish you to do so. I do _not_ want any scaremongering." He looked pointedly at the Slytherins as he said this. "Do not believe _anything_ unless you hear it _directly_ from either myself or Professor McGonagall." He nodded at her. "Thankyou."

McGonagall glanced around the room. "It's getting late and you have lessons tomorrow. The Ball is now over."

The students began grumbling – they knew full well that if that owl had not come, they would still be enjoying the Ball.

Harry took Cho as far as the guests' lodgings. She reached out and squeezed his hand comfortingly. "You're safe here," she reminded him, kissing him before heading into the guestrooms. Harry smiled to himself.

Meanwhile, Draco was relieved to finally be rid of Pansy as he left the Hall. Much as he didn't want to admit it, he was scared of what might happen to him if or when it came out that he was unsure about where his allegiances lay.

He was suddenly aware of Snape at his shoulder. "P – Professor," he stammered.

"Make your choices wisely, Mr. Malfoy," the teacher advised quietly. A moment later he was gone, once again giving the impression that he was able to read minds.

----------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------

****

TBC

Author thanks:

Lucidity: right now, Harry doesn't really know _what_ to believe. After all, Draco's always been really unpleasant to him, so he really doesn't know what to make of it all – and you can hardly blame him for being a little suspicious, can you? As for the first two questions, you'll find out in due course – but it may well be a while! Remember this is a 32-chapter fic, and this was only chapter 3! And can you really be sure that Lucius is being completely honest with Draco?

Scribe of Gryffindor: (blushes) Good to know I can evoke such emotions in my audience – even if it _is_ making them cry! It means I'm doing something right! I'm not going into great detail about romantic relationships in this fic – mainly because when I was writing this 2 ½ years ago, I had no idea where it was going or who would end up with whom until it happened! Besides which, I'm enjoying seeing where my reviewers think the relationships are going!! ;)

MagickalStar135: I've never been trick-or-treating as my parents generally don't like it and also didn't want me being out at night and certainly not in our area – it's a fairly rough area. This year my housemates and I had a party. As mentioned above, I went as Hermione (even had the bushy hair!) And Narcissa's disappearance my well be significant to the plot as a whole…

The Lady Quotes: Yay! A new reviewer! And I completely agree about the whole "What if?" thing! It's why I'm a fanfic author!

Samhaincat: I am a Draco fan, in case you hadn't gathered by now! I don't think he has an easy time at home (would you if Lucius Malfoy was your father???) but I also don't think Harry quite realises this; he's not exactly the world's most perceptive person! And you updated! Yay!

TinorialPeredhil: of course Harry and Draco had to fight – it would be _way_ OOC for them to have fought bitterly for 6 years and then suddenly become best friends. Regarding the whole turning-into-Oliver-Wood thing, I seem to recall Angelina doing a similar thing in OotP!!

AshleyPorter: Yay! Another new reviewer! Hope you continue with this and that you continue to enjoy! (And review!)


	5. DADA With Professor Figg

Reaching Maturity

Disclaimer: standard stuff – not mine, never will be, making no money from this

****

A/N: as of Tuesday Nov 9th, this fic is COMPLETELY typed up!!! Which leaves me with more time to write more!! (But of course, I will be good and do all of my essays and exam revision first!)

****

A/N 2: placement is brilliant!!!!!

----------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------

Chapter 5: DADA With Professor Figg

The next day there was a definite air of fear and gloom throughout the whole of Hogwarts. It was made worse by the removal of all the Hallowe'en decorations and the black, angry sky outside that dumped large raindrops by the bucketload on the school and grounds. There was no opportunity for any sort of Quidditch practice, partly because of the appalling weather and also because Madam Hooch had gone down to London for more supplies. Dumbledore had announced at breakfast that morning that there were to be no Quidditch practices unless a member of staff was willing to supervise – and, in this weather, none were forthcoming.

Arabella Figg, it transpired, was teaching the seventh-year Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson that morning. Although Lupin seemed to be doing most of the teaching, there were some things that Figg knew considerably more about than he did.

She watched the class file in, the room split perfectly down the middle, with Gryffindors on one side and Slytherins on the other. She cleared her throat pointedly and quiet settled on the room. "I understand you have done some work with regard to the Unforgivables in a previous year," she stated in her low, clear voice.

A ripple went around the class. What was she going to do with them?

She smiled. "I'm not going to put you under the Imperius again," she reassured them kindly, and they visibly relaxed. "You _can_ defend yourself against two of these curses, if you are prepared and are heading into a situation where you may be facing them." Her smile disappeared. "Unfortunately, you cannot protect yourself from Avada Kedavra." She scanned the room with her keen eyes. "Does anyone have any ideas regarding how you could protect yourselves?"

Ron put his hand up. "Shields," he said confidently.

"Good. One point to Gryffindor. Now, effective shields are very hard to conjure, so I don't expect any of you to have done it by the end of today's lesson. The shield is invisible, and its purpose is to deflect unfriendly spells thrown in your direction, usually back at the person attempting to curse you. If you reach out, you cannot feel it, but you'll know if it's in place or not." She explained the incantation ('_Protego_') and demonstrated the wand movement. Even the Slytherins paid close attention to her (though Pansy Parkinson seemed more interested in her nails). After she had finished, she turned to face Draco. "Mr. Malfoy, perhaps you would like to put my shield to the test with a Jelly-Legs curse?"

Draco stood and sauntered confidently up to the front of the classroom, and placed the curse on the teacher. As the curse hit the shield, purple ripples spread out across it, away from the point of impact – and suddenly Draco was suffering the effects. Figg ended the spell on him with a flick of her wand and he returned to his seat. The class looked suitably impressed. She smiled again. "Your turn now. I will come round and place a hex on each of you in turn. If your shield works, _I_ suffer the effects. If it doesn't, _you_ suffer. Now, begin – yes, Mr. Finnigan?"

"How long do they last?"

"Up to twelve hours, depending on how strong they are," she replied. "Begin."

The next half an hour was filled with seventh-years attempting to create protection shields, with Figg walking around the room correcting them when necessary. Finally, the allotted time was up and she clapped her hands sharply to get their attention. At some point in the last half-hour, Lupin had appeared in the room, specifically to perform counter-curses when it was time to test the shields.

"Miss Patil!"

Parvati walked up to the front of the room and Figg hexed her. The air shimmered for a moment, but Parvati's shield wasn't strong enough to withstand the hex. As Lupin removed the hex, Figg smiled. "Not too bad for a first attempt. Mr. Crabbe!"

Crabbe, Goyle and Neville's shields had not materialised at all. Pansy's shattered the moment the hex hit it, as did those of Dean and Millicent Bulstrode. Seamus, Ron and Hermione's all withstood most of the hex and they were barely affected. Harry and Draco's shields deflected the hex entirely. Harry's shield deflected the hex onto Lupin, providing much amusement for both class and teachers.

"_Excellent_, both of you! Five points each!" enthused Figg, beaming. Harry and Draco looked at each other, both thinking the same – if Lucius Malfoy were to try anything over the Christmas holidays, there was a strong chance that Draco would be able to withstand it.

Harry raised his hand. "Do shields work if someone tries to hit you?" he asked, fully aware of Draco's glare boring into him. "Physically, I mean."

"No. The shield protects against _magical_ assaults only. They have to be _extremely_ strong to withstand an Unforgivable. Any more questions? No? Homework is to read about shields and make notes. Pages two hundred and four to ten. Also, practise your shield-conjuring. As you practise, you should get better and be able to create an increasingly stronger shield. Professor Lupin will be taking you on Friday. Dismissed."

The class hurried out of the room, bound for the Great Hall for their lunch, joining other students as they headed in the same direction. Draco attempted to hit Neville with joint Leg-Locker and Jelly-Legs curses. Unfortunately for Draco, Neville moved and the spells hit Snape instead. He dropped his books and, arms flailing, grabbed onto the nearest object, which happened to be a suit of armour. Unluckily for Snape, the suit of armour objected to being manhandled in this way, and pulled free of him, clanking away down the corridor and sending the head of Slytherin tumbling to the floor. The crowd of students fell deathly silent. Several people had seen Malfoy perform the curses and even the densest student realised that the curses had _not _been intended for the teacher.

Snape's face darkened as he forced himself into a sitting position, pushing his dark hair from his face. "_Who. Did. That?_" he hissed furiously. His dark, piercing eyes scanned the crowd. "The perpetrator _does_ realise that magic should not be used in the corridors, do they not?"

At that moment, McGonagall came round the corner. "What is going on?" she demanded sharply. Then she saw Snape, still sitting on the floor. "Severus?"

Snape's eyes narrowed to slits. "Some _idiot_ decided to hit me with Leg-Locker and Jelly-Legs curses." His upper lip curled into its familiar sneer of contempt. "Oddly enough, I am not laughing."

"It was an accident!" Pansy cried defensively. Draco kicked her hard in the shins and the two teachers turned to look at her. She covered her mouth. "I – I – I mean, it wasn't me…" she spluttered.

A stick hit Draco on the head. "Ouch!" he cried, more startled than hurt.

"Peeves?" growled McGonagall. "Show yourself."

"It was him, _Professor_," the addressed poltergeist informed the Transfiguration teacher, cackling, as he threw another stick at Draco. "I saw it all."

McGonagall raised one well-marked eyebrow. "I see." She quickly performed the counter-curses and released Snape, who snatched up his books from the floor and swept off down the corridor, causing students in his path to shrink back against the wall. McGonagall turned to Draco. "Come with me, Malfoy," she ordered curtly. Draco knew better than to argue as he followed her to her office, almost running to keep up with her fast stride. He desperately prayed that his father would not be contacted.

McGonagall did not ask him to sit down. "First of all, I am taking ten points from Slytherin for the use of magic in the corridors. Secondly, I am taking another ten off for cursing a teacher – and I don't care if it was accidental or deliberate. I am assuming, though, that you did not _intend_ to hit Professor Snape?" The corners of her mouth twitched slightly, with what might have been amusement.

Draco shook his head. "I meant to hit Longbottom," he muttered, staring at his feet as he spoke. "He moved at the last moment."

"Be that as it may, you still broke a school rule. You will see me here at eight o'clock tomorrow evening for your detention."

Draco looked up at McGonagall, a frantic look in his grey eyes. "Please say you won't tell my father, Professor!" he pleaded desperately. "He already hates me. He'll kill me if he hears about this!"

Privately, McGonagall agreed with him, though she did not let on. "Next time he _will_ be contacted, though, so I advise you to mind the rules more in future. I shall be watching you closely and I will also be speaking to Professor Snape about you. Much more of this, and you will find yourself out of Hogwarts in disgrace."

"Wh – what do you mean?" demanded Draco anxiously.

"I mean," said McGonagall impatiently, "that you are _very_ close to being expelled, Mr. Malfoy." Her words caused him to flinch. "Go," she ordered. "You're a disgrace, Malfoy. An absolute _disgrace_."

Draco had been walking towards the door as she said this, but the last sentence was too much for him to take and he spun round angrily, temper flaring. "_Tell_ my father, then!" he yelled. "Tell him I'm a disgrace! You'll only be agreeing with him and serving to make him even more of an arrogant b –"

"_Alright_!" McGonagall cut him off. "Get out!" She watched him storm out and winced as the door banged shut violently behind him. Sighing, she went down to lunch, unaware that Draco had gone to his dormitory and not to the Great Hall, where he lay on his bed, staring up at the canopy of the four-poster bed. He did not turn up for lessons that afternoon and Harry couldn't help noticing at dinner that evening that he looked like he'd been crying. _Surely Draco Malfoy's the _last_ person to be crying_, he thought in confusion.

Draco caught Harry staring at him as he sat on one end of the Slytherin table, and he promptly looked away. He hadn't wanted to come to the meal, given the state he was in (not that any of the Slytherins had noticed his red eyes, a fact for which he was grateful), but he had been too hungry to miss another meal.

----------------------------------------------------

The next significant event to take place was the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match, a fortnight before the Christmas holidays. Three-quarters of the school would most likely be cheering on Gryffindor, with Slytherin receiving only the support of their own House.

"Now," began Madam Hooch sternly, "I want a nice _clean_ game for once." She looked at both Harry and Alistair Crowther, the sixth-year Slytherin captain and Chaser, pointedly, knowing full well the history of recent encounters. "Shake hands!"

Reluctantly, and glaring murderously at each other, the two obeyed for about half a second (Hermione reckoned that it was probably less).

"Take your positions!" Hooch threw the Quaffle into the air and the game began, with fourth-year Gryffindor Dennis Creevey on the commentary – he had taken over from Lee Jordan the previous year). "It's Dai Evans of Gryffindor with the Quaffle…to Ginny Weasley – oh, nice turn! – who passes it to Theresa Calderbrook…She's bearing down on goal, looks like she might score…OUCH! That must have _hurt_, Crowther barging into her like that! Surely that's not allowed! Slytherin now in possession, with dirty Crowther passing to Marcus Leigh, who shoots – but Ron Weasley is alert and it's an easy save for him. Gryffindor have the Quaffle. Ron Weasley to Calderbrook – that's a foul! Flint has just hit a Bludger at Evans; how his nose wasn't broken, I don't know! Dirty, cheating Slytherins!"

McGonagall cleared her throat loudly. "Creevey…"

"Sorry, Professor. Calderbrook advancing on the Slytherin goal – she scores! Ten points to Gryffindor!" He punched the air in delight. "Come on, Gryffindor! Slytherin have the Quaffle. Leigh to – nice interception by Ginny as Leigh is nearly knocked off his broom by a Bludger. Nimbus Two Thousand, very slow compared to the Firebolt, which continues to surpass all others on the market –"

"Creevey, the _match!_ You are _not _meant to advertise broomsticks! You're as bad as Jordan!"

----------------------------------------------------

Harry was watching the game from the edge of the pitch, where he was currently hovering. The Gryffindors had predicted dirty play from the Slytherins (Crowther's tactics were the same no matter who the opposition were), including Draco, but if Harry was honest, the blond boy was too distracted to even look for the Golden Snitch properly, never mind think about dirty play. In the meantime, the game was getting dirtier by the minute. Flint hit a Bludger directly at Seamus, so Dean hit the other Bludger straight at the Slytherin captain. The Slytherins were doing their utmost to injure Gryffindors (and vice versa). Crowther was encouraging his team to deliberately cause collisions and steer Gryffindors off-course by locking broom-handles with them (blatching and blurting, respectively, according to _Quidditch Through the Ages_). They were also attempting to slow the Gryffindors by hanging onto their broom tails. Madam Hooch awarded Gryffindor two penalties, both of which they scored. It didn't take long for Slytherin to pull three goals back.

And then there was the unmistakable golden glint of the Snitch, over by the Slytherin goals. Harry shot off in that direction. Draco was close behind, but not close enough. Harry carefully balanced himself as he leaned forwards and grabbed the small ball.

Draco pulled up beside him. "Well done," he muttered before heading down to land. Seconds later, the Gryffindor players surrounded Harry in a mob and all seven loudly celebrated in mid-air until Hooch ordered them down. The party in their common room went on until about one o'clock in the morning, McGonagall joining them before finally forcing herself to order them off to bed.

----------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------

TBC

****

Author thanks:

Lucidity: Do you really think I can answer your questions without ruining the whole plot??? They'll be answered in due course!! 32chapters, remember?!

MagickalStar135: I think one of the relationships is starting to become a little more obvious now. As for the other, you know which shipper I am! As for Cho, I make no comment (but bear in mind she is far from my favourite character…)

Dark Borg Drone: (blushes) There are a number of better authors out there than me. Hannon le for reviewing! Glad to see I'm appreciated! ;)

Scribe of Gryffindor: I rather suspect Pansy has bewitched her mirror so that it always tells her how gorgeous she is! And she's one of those people who follows six different fashions at once, thinking it makes her super-cool – but the results are disastrous! If you want a better insight into potential romantic pairings, read some of my other fics! Neurorehab is dealing with the brain (neurology is the field of doctors who deal with physical disorders of the brain). Most of the people we're working with are affected by strokes, multiple sclerosis, Parkinson's disease and motor neurone disease. I suspect you're getting mixed up with psychiatry, which is to do with mental health and wellbeing.

Samhaincat: give it time and Draco may open up to Harry a bit.

The Lady Quotes: have you recovered from having your cousins over yet? I'm not horrendously good at cliffhangers; I'm more of a drawing-to-a-natural-close kind of author. I need to work on cliffhangers. And using the phone to make contact with services (this is placement-related; I hate using the phone and talking to people I don't know).

TinorialPeredhil: I'm not used to such long reviews – from anyone!! Oh, I couldn't resist the whole thing with Snape and Flitwick; Flitwick just wants everyone to smile and be happy and do well in Charms. Perhaps I should send Sirius into hiding from you??? And Harry's suffering from the whole Gryffindor Quidditch Captain Syndrome (Madam Pomfrey has just informed me of this condition, along with its related strains of Ravenclaw and Slytherin Quidditch Captain Syndromes; there is also the Hufflepuff strain, but this is far milder and has very little effect on the sufferer).

Also thanks to rinkurocks


	6. Christmas Holidays Begin

Reaching Maturity

****

Disclaimer: nope, still not mine. Marie-Jeanne Lenoir is, though (read on and you'll find out who she is).

****

A/N: I confess that I couldn't resist putting Tonks in. I know I said that I'm not including OotP stuff, but Tonks is one of my favourite characters and she _insisted _that I put her in (she threatened to hex me if I didn't). So she's here briefly.

****

HUUUUUUUUGE apologies!! I first tried to post this a fortnight ago, but wouldn't let me and the network at uni went down (yes, we're _still_ having all sorts of problems with the IT system and it's late November and they've been working on it since August, but hey…) Then I tried to post last weekend, but wasn't letting anyone post anything. Hopefully this is third time lucky!!

----------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------

Chapter 6: Christmas Holidays Begin

The next morning, Harry sent a letter to Sirius; it was about time he contacted him, after all.

__

Dear Snuffles,

We're in the lead in Quidditch – beat Slytherin! They were somewhat dirty (funnily enough). Then came a blow-by-blow account of the match. _Malfoy was surprisingly nice about it. He's really changed this year – although that's not to say I trust him. I don't. I can't yet. He's desperate to find out what's happened to his mother. Don't suppose you know anything?_

Any more news on Voldemort? We haven't heard anything since you owled McGonagall on Hallowe'en.

There's a Hogsmeade weekend in a fortnight; it would be good to see you again. I need to talk to you about something.

Harry

Yes, he thought. _That will do nicely_. He took it up to the Owlery and chose an inconspicuous school barn owl to send the letter. Hedwig eyed him balefully and she nipped his fingers rather too hard for it to be affectionate, as he attempted to pat her apologetically. She was clearly offended.

"Don't look at me like that," Harry reprimanded her. "It'd get suspicious if you went every time, seeing as you're not native and all that." Her response was merely to fly up to the highest perch and turn her back to him. "Fine. Be like that."

"Owl sulking?" a quiet voice inquired teasingly.

Harry turned round to see Draco leaning against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. "What do you want?" he demanded, more sharply than he'd intended.

Draco shrugged. "This might be my last chance to speak to you before I go home for Christmas in a week."

"And?"

"_And, _I'm going to find out about my mother."

"You already told me that," Harry reminded him. "What do you _really_ want?"

Draco took a deep breath and looked Harry straight in the eye. "I just want to say thanks."

"What for?"

Draco shuffled his feet nervously. "For – for stopping me, for reminding me to not do anything stupid. Y'know?"

Harry nodded briefly. "You're welcome." He watched the Slytherin turn and leave with his usual saunter.

----------------------------------------------------

Hermione was going home for Christmas (a cousin who lived in Australia was coming over for the holiday), whereas Harry and Ron were staying at Hogwarts. Ron's parents were visiting their second-oldest son Charlie in Romania, and the twins were too busy with their joke shop in Diagon Alley, the profits of which were sky-high, and had been ever since its opening. The decorations in the school were spectacular as always, although Flitwick had not quite managed to teach all the words of every carol to each individual suit of armour. Peeves (naturally) engaged in his usual Christmas activity of hiding inside them and filling in the gaps with an astonishing range of extremely rude words. The school was a lot quieter since all but a handful of students had gone home, and Ron was particularly glad that Draco was not one of the remaining students.

Draco, however, wished that he could have stayed at school. His father had barely spoken to him when he had met him at King's Cross station. The journey home was silent, with Lucius completely ignoring him. Draco hated Christmas, and he usually spent most of the holidays in his room. His mother had at least always made the effort of spending some time with her son. Draco bit his lip hard as he remembered that she wouldn't be there this year – making the fortnight at home even more unbearable.

"We have a guest staying with us," Lucius said curtly. "It would be greatly appreciated if you could keep clear of the guest wing and the meeting room _at all times_. Understand?"

"Perfectly," muttered Draco as the carriage pulled up outside the front door of the manor.

"Good. You will join me for dinner. Six o'clock sharp." Lucius stepped out and strode briskly inside, leaving Draco alone to haul his belongings up to his room, despite the weight of the trunk and the drizzle that had begun falling partway along the journey. The weather matched the seventeen-year-old's mood perfectly. Yet another silent, lonely holiday, made far, far worse by his mother's disappearance. Much as he made out at school how wonderful his father was, only he knew what a big act it was.

He glanced out of his bedroom window, which was on the second floor, and saw his father involved in a very intense discussion with a small man who bore more than a passing resemblance to a rat. Even from this distance, his weak personality was perfectly clear to Draco, by the way he constantly nodded in fervent agreement with whatever it was that Lucius was saying. Draco didn't recognise the man, but he assumed that he was the guest his father had been talking about.

He was exhausted from the long journey and that, coupled with an overwhelming sense of loneliness, caused him to fall asleep, so deeply that in order to wake him up for dinner, Lucius had sent a house-elf upstairs to throw a bucket of icy-cold water over the teenager. Spluttering, he glared at the creature. "What the _hell_ was that for?" he demanded furiously, pushing wet strands of hair from his face.

"Master Malfoy says it is time for dinner and Inky has to wake Master Draco with cold water," the elf squeaked before scuttling off back to wherever it had come from. Draco watched it go and reluctantly changed into some dry clothes, heading downstairs.

"_So_ considerate of you to _finally_ grace us with your presence," sneered Lucius as Draco entered the room and sat down. Draco didn't answer and Lucius arched one eyebrow. "Not speaking?" he inquired mildly, an unpleasant undertone just barely detectable.

Draco shrugged. "I fell asleep."

"Clearly," said Lucius, "seeing as I had to send a house-elf to wake you. It is apparent that work needs to be done on your punctuality."

Draco's pale face flushed. "I was tired," he replied defensively.

Lucius' upper lip curled in a manner not too dissimilar from Snape's. "I'm sure you were." He turned his attention to a thick, black, leather-bound book that was on the table in front of him, and started taking notes from it. Clearly the conversation – if you could call it that – was over. The only sound in the large, sparsely-decorated room was the scratching of Lucius' quill in his notebook. Silently Draco finished his meal and stood up.

"Remember not to go into the guest wing," Lucius sharply reminded him without looking up.

"I had no intention of doing so!" retorted Draco angrily, losing his temper more from tiredness than anything else.

Lucius was instantly on his feet, eyes blazing with an icy fury and wand pointed directly at his son. "How _dare_ you speak to me like that!" he hissed, beyond anger. The tip of his wand sparked.

Draco took a few steps backwards. He rarely saw his father so angry, and he was terrified. "I – I – I j-just m-m-meant –" he stammered.

"_Silence!_" Lucius bellowed. He muttered something and Draco suddenly found himself back in his room with the doors somehow locked. Worse, when he tried to speak, he found that he couldn't. He punched the wall repeatedly through sheer anger, the thin layer of skin over his knuckles quickly breaking and smearing the hard stone wall red with his blood. He didn't feel the pain, and he eventually collapsed to the floor, exhausted, where he slept dreamlessly until nearly midday of the following day. His voice was still nonexistent and he ached badly from having slept awkwardly on the hard floor. His hands stung badly now. He stayed in his room all day as the door was still locked, receiving no food or drink (thank goodness he had bought some things on the train the previous day), nor any acknowledgement of his existence. He didn't feel like doing anything at all that day, although there was very little he _could_ do (except homework, but that idea didn't appeal to him). Clearly this was his punishment.

Sitting with his back to the wall and his knees drawn up to his chest, he lost himself in his thoughts. He had to find his mother now; he _had_ to. _If it's the last thing I do, I _will_ find her_, he vowed silently to himself.

----------------------------------------------------

Harry awoke on Christmas Day to see a thick, crisp blanket of clean white snow on the ground and cold winter sunshine streaming into his dormitory window. He glanced across the room and saw that Ron's bed was already empty. He assumed that the other boy was already downstairs in the common room, and this guess was confirmed when the youngest Weasley boy yelled up, "Oi! Harry! Presents!"

Harry dashed downstairs, instantly wide awake. Ron was wearing a new, hand-knitted Weasley sweater. For once, Mrs. Weasley had not made him a maroon one, but the sweater was instead –

"Blue!" exclaimed Ron happily. "This is the first time I haven't got a maroon one!" He danced round the room. "Come on!"

Harry joined him and Ginny. He himself had received a green jumper from Mrs. Weasley (to match his eyes, the note said). Hermione had given both him and Ron some much-needed supplies of Fleetwood's High-Finish Handle Polish for their broomsticks, along with a substantial quantity of sweets. She had also given Harry some elaborate Belgian chocolates, which he later discovered in his room, with a note asking him to be discreet about them and to not tell Ron. From Ginny, Fred and George, Bill and Charlie, Harry received a beautiful atlas of the wizarding world, with the pages becoming 3D when they were open, to provide the user with an exact image of the landscape. Harry gave Ginny a big hug and she went pink with pleasure that Harry liked his gift so much.

Ron picked up a heavy parcel and handed it to Harry. "Looks like Sirius' handwriting," he observed.

Harry hastily ripped the paper off. It was a book solely devoted to Auror-related topics, going into great detail about every area possible of the Dark Arts. "_Wow_, Sirius!" he breathed, showing the book to Ron. "What d'you reckon to Tonks having somehow obtained this?"

"Highly likely," replied Ron.

Ginny glanced at her watch. "We should go down to breakfast," she informed the two boys. "I don't know about you, but I'm hungry."

Ron's eyes lit up at the mention of food. "Let me get dressed and then I'll race you."

"You'll lose," Ginny said by way of an answer. Ron glared at her, but Harry grabbed his arm and hauled him up to their dormitory.

A few minutes later they were dressed and made their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast. Already there were two first-year Slytherins, three Ravenclaws and four Hufflepuffs, including Hannah Abbott, sitting at the table. Because of the small number of students remaining at Hogwarts for Christmas, those that were already in the Great Hall were seated at the staff table. Ginny was close behind them and the ensuing meal was loud and cheerful, with much discussion of received gifts. The morning was then spent playing rowdy games in the Great Hall, House divides forgotten for the moment, and teachers joining in, except for Trelawney, who remained in her tower room, and Snape, who was elsewhere. Christmas dinner was a spectacular, delicious feast with a vast array of foods (prepared by the house-elves; Harry was glad that Hermione wasn't here to comment on it). There was a huge pile of glittering, multicoloured wizard crackers in the centre of the table.

Snape glanced around at the staff and students seated at the table. "Professor Trelawney need not have worried about the possibility of there being thirteen around the table," he commented drily. "She could have joined us after all."

Harry, Ron and Ginny exchanged looks. Snape was spot on, and Harry found himself smirking at the Head of Slytherin's remark, despite his intense dislike of the teacher. It was turning out to be an excellent day all round.

----------------------------------------------------

It was not, however, enjoyable for Draco. It was the first day he got his voice back and his room unlocked, but he ate his meal alone. The food was not traditional Christmas fare and the Malfoy home bore no decorations. The large, high-ceilinged dining room was cold, bare and echoey, especially after the festive, joyful atmosphere there had been at school, which Draco desperately longed for. True, the atmosphere had been noticeably more subdued since the second rise of Voldemort, two and a half years ago at the end of Draco's fourth year, but it was infinitely preferable to that of the Malfoy family home.

He finished his lunch and left the room, shivering slightly. This was the perfect time to begin the search for clues to his mother's disappearance. His father and the unnamed 'guest' had gone away the previous evening (Draco didn't know where to, and, quite frankly, he suspected that he didn't _want_ to know) and apparently wouldn't be back until the 28th at the earliest. Being methodical worked best, he decided, so he drew up a list of where to look, from the cellars at the bottom of the house, up to the third storey, plus the two towers and the rather extensive grounds. He intended to go into the guest quarters as well, unless there was some kind of repelling charm on the area – which wouldn't be at all surprising in this house, and, if he was honest with himself, he was almost expecting it.

However, he hadn't realised the enormity of the task. The three cellar rooms were huge and filled with all sorts of oddments, some with a very thick layer of dust covering them. The cellar furthest from the stairs was first on Draco's list. It was dark, so he held his wand up, muttering, "_Lumos_".

He ignored the furthest-back boxes and crates – _nobody _could get through dust that thick without causing _some_ kind of disturbance. No amount of magic, however powerful or intricate, could do it. He examined the closer boxes. Most held old, broken objects, including old wands, clothes and broomsticks.

Satisfied that there was nothing in there worth bothering with, Draco left the room, pausing only to pick up a scrap of parchment that must have fallen out of his pocket when he had taken his wand out. Leaving it lying around where his father could potentially find it was nothing short of dangerous.

The middle cellar was equally unhelpful. The only thing that could perhaps have any possibility of being at all useful was a box full of letters addressed to Draco's mother. However, on closer inspection, they were fairly old, from Narcissa's schooldays, from a French witch. _Still_, Draco mused, _they could hold clues, if something like an old grudge has anything to do with this business._ He tucked the box under his arm and walked back into the final cellar. This contained a few old copies of the _Daily Prophet_, owl perches and food for the kitchens (presumably put there by the house-elves). Draco went back up to the main house, out of the cellars and up to his room to examine the letters in close detail.

They didn't appear to mean anything, and the seventeen-year-old's hopes began to fade. The most recent letter was from fifteen years ago, when Marie-Jeanne (Narcissa's correspondent) had had her second child: "_It is trop dangereux_ _now. Contact me no longer, s'il te plaît. Best regards, M-J_."

Angrily, Draco shoved the box under his bed. He hadn't achieved _anything_, and that meant that the afternoon had been wasted.

Before he went to bed that night, he decided to owl Harry, to see if he could find out what had happened to Marie-Jeanne. It might well be nothing, he reasoned, but in these dark times, you could never be completely sure.

_----------------------------------------------------_

----------------------------------------------------

(that's the third storey)

****

TBC

****

French translations:

__

trop dangereux – too dangerous

__

s'il te plaît – please (literally, 'if it pleases you'), 'tu' form rather than the more commonly used (and more formal) 'vous' form

****

Author thanks:

Lucidity: I thought Lupin being hit by Jelly Legs would be amusing!! As for the punishment, I think Snape too conflicted to know what to do (and the student doing the cursing was a Slytherin!) and also, he was so annoyed that he just stormed off!

Evanescent Dawn (formerly Scribe of Gryffindor): I get really confused when people change their names!! I haven't read the books you mentioned (but give it time and I'll track them down!) Alistair Crowther is a play on Alistair Crowley's name (he's some guy that's heavily/deeply involved in black "magick"). As for Draco being so close to expulsion, McGonagall's put up with him for 6 years and she's getting very close to the end of her tether with everything he's done – and he's a prefect so he should know better, really, in her opinion.

Samhaincat: I'm afraid you aren't going to see Snape talking to Draco about that incident – mainly because he doesn't as he has far more important things to be worrying about. Bear in mind also that Draco is kind of teacher's pet!

Rinkurocks: I'm getting Draco-sympathy! Yay! I'm working on your emotions well, then!

Actionmaster: I'm doing my best!

TinorialPeredhil: you've _got_ to have an amusing commentator for Hogwarts Quidditch! And remember what a party-pooper Voldemort is…


	7. The Search Begins

Reaching Maturity

Disclaimer: look, if they were mine, do you think I'd be posting on or getting this published?

****

A/N: one more week left of placement. Less, technically, seeing as it's Saturday afternoon and I finish on Friday lunchtime. It's been OK, but adult neuro is not an area of particular interest for me; I spent a day and a half over at paediatrics this week and it confirmed that I do want to go into paeds. This time next week I'll be able to tell you whether or not I've passed this placement. I may well not; my supervisor told me I'm bordering on failing. Still, I can always redo it.

----------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------

Chapter 7: The Search Begins

The next day, those at Hogwarts felt rather flat after the previous day's festivities. Harry woke before Ron, courtesy of a rather imperious eagle owl pecking him none too affectionately. It was Draco's owl, Hecate, he realised, with a note tied to her leg.

__

Harry –

Do you know the name Marie-Jeanne Lenoir? I don't expect you do, but I'd be grateful if you could find out for me. It's important – she used to be my mother's French penfriend. Please find out for me if it's at all possible.

I can't say more.

- Draco

Harry shook his head. The name wasn't at all familiar to him; there weren't many witches and wizards outside of Britain that he knew. He located his quill and scribbled a quick reply, promising to contact a couple of people that he thought could have heard of her, and then tied the letter to Hecate's leg. She flew off immediately through the open window (_Since when was the window open?_ thought Harry in confusion).

Once she was no longer visible to Harry's eyes, he picked up his quill again and grabbed a scrap of parchment, writing simply the name and _Who is she?_ before signing his name. He quickly dressed (Ron slept on) and headed up to the Owlery, where Hedwig was sleeping. He gently stroked her and she promptly awoke. "Hedwig, I have a job for you," he informed her as he tied the note to her leg. "Take this to Sirius."

Hedwig gave him an affectionate nip before spreading her wings and flying from the Owlery. Harry glanced at his watch and noticed that it was time for breakfast. _I'd better wake Ron_, he thought as he began descending the tower steps. It was up to Sirius now.

----------------------------------------------------

Early morning starts were essential for tasks like his, Draco knew, and he got up at six-thirty that morning. He spent only twenty minutes on dressing (there was no point having a shower if he was going to get himself – horror of horrors – dirty, dusty and sweaty) and eating breakfast. The most difficult part of the mission would be his father's study – he knew there were security enchantments on it. The problem was, any definite clues or evidence would be sure to be in there. Lucius was nothing if not extremely careful.

Maybe later he'd attempt to get in.

Maybe.

The two house-elves in the kitchen assured him that "Master Malfoy" had not been in there except to occasionally complain about the food, and that only briefly. Draco knew that they were telling the truth because he knew them well and thus was aware that they were hopeless at lying convincingly. His next stop was the dining room, but he found only an old toy that had been his. He had last played with it when he was four. He wryly recalled throwing it under the small table in the corner where he had just rediscovered it. The table was covered with a thick, dark green cloth that reached the floor. He left the toy there, making a mental note to recover it at lunchtime.

He left the bare, cold room for the living room – or 'the parlour', as his mother insisted on calling it. This room was elegantly decorated and, unlike the other rooms in the mansion, light, airy and pleasant. A piano stood against one wall, unused by him for several years. Draco shuddered as his eyes fell onto the object, remembering the six years of torturous piano lessons his parents had forced him to endure. They had not seemed to be able to accept that their son did not possess a single musical bone in his body, and he had been ecstatic when his Hogwarts letter had arrived – it meant no more piano lessons.

Perhaps there was something concealed inside the piano? His mother, after all, was a decent pianist. Carefully, slowly, he lifted up the lid of the instrument, wincing as the hinges squeaked. It seemed to be such a loud noise in the silence of the house. He couldn't quite see down inside, owing to his lack of height, so he hooked his foot around a nearby stool, pulling it to him so that he could stand on it. Using the stool, he peered inside the piano, but as far as he could see, there was nothing apart from the hammers and strings that made up the inside of the instrument.

Groaning with impatience (patience had never been Draco's strongest point), he stepped down from the stool and put it back where it had come from, at one side of the piano. There was nothing _under_ the piano, or in or behind the cupboards in the parlour. The rug hid nothing beneath it and the curtains held no secrets either. He even checked the fireplace and got on his knees and peered up the chimney (using the light his wand gave off), but there was nothing to be found.

Face, hair and clothes now streaked with soot, dust and ash, he scoured the corridors and the entrance hall. His spirits lifted slightly as he checked the hall cupboard, but to no avail. Even though he examined and shook every item of outdoor clothing, he found nothing at all. As far as he could tell, the only things missing were some of his father's things that he had taken with him when he had left. Draco's spirits dropped sharply again.

He glanced at his watch, startled to see that it was already twelve-thirty. He realised that he was extremely hungry now. At least he'd covered the ground floor; he could do the first floor after lunch.

----------------------------------------------------

"Bathroom, parents' room, library, Mother's studio, guest wing," Draco muttered as he stood at the top of the stairs after lunch. The library door stood to his right and he pushed the heavy oak door open. The many shelves of the fairly large library were lined mainly with thick, dusty, old books devoted to the Dark Arts – although, courtesy of many very complex charms placed upon them, to the casual observer (and even Ministry of Magic officials) they seemed to have perfectly legitimate titles. Most had a thick blanket of dust on them. Draco briefly scanned the shelves – even the most complex concealing spells could not make disturbed dust appear undisturbed, even slightly.

He almost didn't see the door concealed behind the tapestry of some long-dead ancestor in the darkest, farthest corner. A draught from a small window near to it caused the tapestry to swing slightly, and the teenager caught sight of a door handle behind it. From the few times he'd ventured into the library, he'd certainly never seen this door.

When he tried it, he discovered that it was unlocked, so he opened it cautiously, not knowing what was behind it. After all, you could never be too careful, particularly in this house. "_Lumos_," he muttered as he held up his wand and took a few nervous steps forward.

The door banged shut behind him, plunging the world around Draco into sudden and complete darkness. Panicked, he whirled round and grabbed the round knob that was on his side of the door, frantically twisting it both ways in an attempt to get it to open, but it remained stubbornly and defiantly shut. "_Alohomora!_"

It didn't work. The light at the tip of his wand dimmed and then went out altogether. Repeated attempts on Draco's part to get it to re-light were in vain as he became aware of a beating sound getting steadily louder. He threw himself to the floor just in time to avoid the worst as a huge cloud of bats descended on him. He tried to fight them off but they just kept coming at him, squeaking, attacking him as he gave up fighting and curled up into a small protective ball on the cold stone floor.

After what seemed like hours but in reality was actually only a few minutes, the squeaking diminished and dissipated, and he could no longer feel their wings either on his body or creating small currents in the air around him. He slowly uncurled himself and carefully sat up. There were numerous bites and bruises on his hands, arms and legs – he could just about see these now that his eyes had adjusted to the gloom. His heart, which had been racing, was slowing down back to its normal rhythm, ceasing the almost painful pounding that it had been doing during the assault. He was terrified; he had no way of knowing if the bats would come back.

He sat silently, statuesque, for several long, seemingly interminable minutes before he forced himself to his feet. His wand, he discovered, was now lying several feet away from him – he had lost his grip on it when he had fallen – and he retrieved it now. Once again he tried the door, but to his despair, it was still well and truly locked. He walked across the room (for it was a room that he was in) to where he could just about make out the opening to a small passage. He had to go along it if he were to have any chance of getting out alive. Dimly he recalled that a human being could only last for three days without water.

He had to duck frequently as he walked cautiously along, to avoid the stones that jutted down from the ceiling and also those that jutted out from either side of him, scraping his skin. Once or twice he felt blood trickling down his arms, but he forced himself to keep going.

The passage eventually widened out into another small room, containing, Draco could see in the dimness, a chair and a table of a simple and plain design, and he gasped as he saw the person sitting there. The man turned and smiled at him, his eyes glinting eerily in the light of the single candle that stood burning on the table. They appeared bloodshot and, if he was honest with himself, they unnerved Draco.

"So," drawled the man. "We meet again, young Malfoy."

Draco froze. "Who – who are you?" he stammered when he finally found his voice. "What are you doing here? How did you get here?"

The man tapped his fingers against each other, steepled in front of his face. "Questions, questions. We _are_ impatient, aren't we, young Malfoy?" There was a definite sneer in his cold, almost snakelike voice. "I am a…friend of your father's. Very kind he is, offering me somewhere to stay in secret. Not many would risk it, not in this day and age." He smiled at Draco; a bitter, twisted smile that radiated malevolence, sending shivers down the teenager's spine.

"I had hoped to meet you at some point during the Christmas holidays," the man continued. "After all, you have always wanted to devote your life to the Dark Arts just like your father, haven't you?" He looked directly at Draco, who looked away under the piercing gaze. This man gave the impression that he could read minds – and Draco most certainly didn't want him to read _his_ mind.

"I deliberately allowed you to see that door. After all, I needed to meet you at _some_ point. The bats are my…protection, shall we say. They're not dangerous _per se_, unless someone whom I do not wish to encounter comes through that door.

"But what to do with _you_?" he mused idly.

"I-I just want to get back to the main part of the house," Draco told him falteringly.

"You've been awfully busy today," the stranger commented lightly. "I've been observing you – oh, you won't have been aware of it!"

Draco shuddered involuntarily and took a step backwards. "What do you want from me?" he asked shakily, looking straight at the stranger for the first time.

The stranger suddenly laughed, a harsh, scornful laugh. "It is not your place to ask, though I believe I have found what I want. All I ask is that you tell nobody – _nobody_ – of my hiding place. Understand?"

Draco nodded. "Yes, sir."

The stranger pointed towards a door on the far side of the room that Draco could have sworn had not been there previously. "You are free to go."

Draco walked quickly towards the door and had just put his hand on the doorknob when the stranger spoke.

"You'll never find her, you know," he informed Draco. "Your mother, I mean. It's no good you searching for her – though I must confess, it's somewhat touching. You can search for a million years, but if the Fidelius Charm is still in operation, you'll never find her."

Draco hurried from the room, sick to his stomach, shaking and sweating uncontrollably. Once he emerged into the main hallway of the house (the door disappeared as soon as he had closed it), he sank to the floor and leaned against the wall, breathing hard. What did the stranger mean?

Somewhat calmer after a few minutes, he got to his feet, filled with renewed vigour. The stranger was lying; he _had_ to be. Draco picked up his wand and resumed his search of the first floor.

----------------------------------------------------

Three owls arrived at breakfast the next morning, one of them being Hedwig. Eagerly, Harry took the parchment from her leg while she nibbled some of his toast. The letter was a reply from Sirius.

__

Dear Harry,

Thanks so much for asking me how I am. (For your information, I am fine; near the village at the moment).

Marie-Jeanne Lenoir is a French artist and a witch. She paints, but it's very weird, abstract stuff. She went to Beauxbatons at a time when Dumbledore thought it would be a good idea to have penpals – 'form links with witches and wizards of other nationalities and academies of magic', I think he said. There was an exchange programme like a lot of Muggle schools have. Marie-Jeanne was put in touch with Narcissa (now Mrs. Malfoy). I have to say I never liked Marie-Jeanne, and had she come to Hogwarts, I believe she would have been placed in Slytherin. Rumour has it (though it was never confirmed one way or the other) that she was right in with Voldemort, possibly more so than even Lucius Malfoy. Of course, she presents a perfectly respectable front now; whether or not the rumours of her allegiances are true is neither here nor there.

Why do you need to know? Is there something going on that I don't know about? Something I should know???

Send a different owl when you reply.

Then came a squiggle that Harry assumed to be Sirius' signature

Harry folded the letter and shoved it deep into his robes. Neither Ron nor Ginny had seen it, for which he was extremely grateful. He needed to pass this information onto Draco immediately.

He was just finishing his breakfast when he suddenly became aware of someone standing behind him. Turning, he stiffened. _Snape._

"Come to my office, Potter," said the Potions teacher. It was not a request.

Harry hurried after the swift-moving teacher as they mad their way along the corridors, feeling distinctly apprehensive with regard to what Snape could possibly want _this_ time. He hadn't done anything wrong as far as he could recall – although where Snape was concerned, being a Gryffindor was crime enough.

Eventually they reached the office. "Sit," Snape ordered curtly. He then sat down on the other side of the desk. "The Headmaster has asked me to have a brief word with you, Potter."

"About what?" asked Harry.

"In the last few months, although you have most likely remained blissfully unaware of it, the Dark Lord has gained an immense amount of power, gaining more support by the hour almost. My own Dark Mark burns almost constantly now." Snape stiffened slightly at this admission.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you need to know, be aware. The way things will work out in the end…The next time you and he meet, it will be for the final showdown. One of you _will_ die. There is no question of that. It is just a matter of months. You need to start preparing yourself."

Harry stared at him in shock.

"You're an exceptional wizard, Potter, much as it pains me to admit it. Now go, before I cease being nice to you." Snape turned to some essays on his desk and picked up a quill covered in red teacher's ink, making it clear that Harry was dismissed.

He left and returned slowly to Gryffindor Tower. He had a lot to think about.

----------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------

****

TBC

****

Author thanks:

Actionmaster, AshleyPorter

Evanescent Dawn: re. 3rd storey – Americans call it the 3rd floor but us Brits call it the 2nd floor (ground, first, second, etc.) so that was just to make sure everyone was clear about how high up his room is. Do you really think that 'rat boy' (love the name!) could be anyone else??? And there could be someone else at the Manor…(If you've read chapter 7 before reading the response, I think you'll figure things out). I will make no comment on your ideas of romance – although the clues are fairly obvious as it's not something I'm particularly going out of my way to keep concealed!! Do you honestly think I'm going to tell you about Marie-Jeanne?? Mind you, she could easily be a red herring I've thrown in to put you all off!!

Lucidity: I couldn't do two in one go – particularly considering the content of chapter 7 as I wanted things to be left hanging for a week!! I know, I'm cruel! And I completely agree with you about Lucius!

Atana: those deleted scenes should have been left in! Lucius is horrible, I agree. Personally I think he's more evil than Voldemort himself (hides from an enraged Dark Lord)

Ruperts-a-Honey: Yay! A new reviewer! Hope you continue with this! (blushes) You're too kind. I aim to please! As for Narcissa, you'll find out – eventually! _Not_ information I wish to impart just yet.

Rinkurocks: (blushes) I do my best; I feel it's extremely important to let readers feel characters' emotions as it makes it more real and a better story (sorry for the analytical stuff – I did English Lit A-Level and am seriously considering doing a degree in it once I (if I) qualify as an OT first).

Samhaincat: you're just going to have to wait to find out about Narcissa. There's all sorts of stuff going on around that issue that, quite frankly, I can't tell you about because it would ruin the whole story! I can't wait to read your one-shot!!


	8. Snow Day

Reaching Maturity

Disclaimer: see previous

****

A/N: I failed placement.

****

A/N 2: in the next 3 weeks, while I'm off uni for Christmas, I'm considering posting slightly more often…

****

A/N 3: I know, I know, I said I'd post yesterday – but although I knew I was going out dancing with our Morris and Clog side, I forgot that because of the location we wouldn't be back until nearly midnight and that by the time I got back I'd be absolutely knackered and not want to anything except go to bed.

****

IMPORTANT INFORMATION FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO DON'T YET KNOW: HARRY POTTER AND THE HALF BLOOD PRINCE IS OUT ON JULY SIXTEENTH. That's official.

----------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------

Chapter 8: Snow Day

Draco had got up at five-thirty that morning – the manor grounds were extensive and would take most of the day to cover. _At least it hasn't snowed so far_, he thought. Such an occurrence, depending on the quantity of snow, could potentially make his task impossible. Even a light snowfall could still make things hard.

He looked out of the window in his room at that point and shivered – there _was_ snow after all, and it was thick. He sank back down onto his bed, groaning in despair. This was the worst thing that could have happened right now. _Why couldn't it have waited one more day? _he thought angrily as he curled up under the bedclothes and tried to get back to sleep. The coldness in the room was penetrating, though, chilling him to the bone, and he lay shivering violently. There was no fireplace in his room, as it had originally been a storage room, where fires were never needed. _And_, thought Draco bitterly, _it would be too much for Father to arrange for one to be installed, simply because it wouldn't directly benefit him._

He soon gave up on trying to sleep – he was far too cold – so at six o'clock, he got up and dressed quickly. The house-elves, when Draco appeared in the kitchen, were startled to see him up so early. "Master Draco is up early!" one of them squeaked.

Draco nodded brusquely. "I have a lot to do today. Toast and a mug of tea will be enough for me."

"It is six and a half hours until lunch; is Master Draco sure that he will survive on so little food?"

Draco gave a half-smile. "I'll probably come down part-way through the morning for a snack," he answered. "Like I said, I have a lot to do today."

Ten minutes later, a slice of toast still in his hand, he went up to the floor that his own room was on. No point in searching that – at the start of the previous summer holidays, he'd invested in a device that recorded the name of anyone entering his room (or, if it wasn't human, the species) and a description of their activities. The only things that had been in between summer and Christmas were the house-elves (to clean) and a rat, which had briefly sniffed around the room before leaving again.

He doubted that the bathroom on this floor (his own personal one) had anything significant in it, but he searched it anyway. He'd checked his parents' bathroom the previous day and found nothing. The only thing he got from searching his bathroom was a sore head from where he'd hit it on a low shelf that held some towels.

It was still only about eight-thirty, so he moved on to the meeting-room. As he opened the heavy oak door, an ear-splitting, high-pitched wailing alarm went off. Draco froze momentarily, then slammed the door shut. The noise promptly stopped, and he leaned against the wall, ears throbbing painfully, heart pounding and adrenaline coursing through his veins. He suspected his father would know about this incident already – Lucius Malfoy had all sorts of security devices throughout his manor home, most of which Draco had no idea whatsoever about how they worked.

He moved onto the three storage rooms next. The first one was dark, with only one tiny window at the top in the corner. The window was so dirty it hardly let any light in at all. A quick glance around the room told Draco that there was nothing in the room at all, apart from some dust.

The second room contained only a broken table and three broken chairs. The table had no drawers, and the chairs were solid wood with no cushions on the seat, so there was no point in conducting a full-scale search of the room. A murky painting hung on the wall, and Draco recalled some of the adventure stories he'd read when he was younger – there was nearly always something hidden behind a painting hanging on the wall. A new hope, along with excitement, flooded through his body, and he hurried over to the painting (which, upon closer examination, was of a night-time mountain landscape) and pushed it to one side. It swung violently back towards him and he only just ducked in time to avoid adding further injury to his already sore head.

As quickly as his hopes had risen, they fell as a blank wall appeared behind the picture. There was nothing jammed into the frame, either. "This is _not happening_!" he moaned as he leaned against the wall, drained. Once again, nothing. He was growing more and more disillusioned with his increasingly fruitless search. _Is there any point in continuing?_ The only rooms where he was likely to find anything at all were carefully protected by a complex web of security spells that Draco had no hope of breaking – and certainly not without drawing unwanted attention to himself.

The door of the third and final storage room was slightly swollen with dampness, and Draco wasn't strong enough to force the heavy oak door inwards by himself. He looked up and down the hallway, but there was nothing that he could use to wrench the door open. The only thing that he could see was a small pot plant on a delicate, spindly table – which was of absolutely no use whatsoever. He didn't know any spells that were likely to work – the door was stuck, not locked, and that meant that _Alohomora_ wouldn't have any effect at all. _Granger would probably be extremely useful in this situation_, he thought wryly.

He stepped back, hands on hips, and surveyed the wall in front of him. The second storage room's door was open and he could just see one of the chairs inside it. An idea hit him – he could perhaps use a chair. He hauled it out of the room and, mustering as much strength as possible, ran straight at the door and rammed the chair hard against it. The door didn't budge, although it shuddered slightly form the force of the assault. Determined, he gritted his teeth and launched another attack. Again, nothing happened.

However, Draco Malfoy wasn't one for quitting (when it suited him), and he continued to relentlessly assail the door with the chair. Unfortunately for him, though, the door was as stubborn as he was, and refused to give. After about half an hour, Draco let the chair fall from his grasp and he slumped to the floor, sweating and gasping for breath, every part of his body aching from the exertion. He was still no closer to succeeding in opening the door. He sat there unmoving for a long time as he recovered.

----------------------------------------------------

That afternoon, Harry got permission from Dumbledore to go to Hogsmeade to see Sirius. Ron had wanted to go with him, and had gone off in a huff when Harry had said that he wanted to see his godfather on his own. Mood somewhat dampened by Ron's behaviour, Harry pulled on his Gryffindor scarf and hat, and his winter cloak, and left the school to meet a large black dog in The Three Broomsticks pub. The landlady, Madam Rosmerta, had been informed by Dumbledore of the situation, and she now allowed Sirius to stay (secretly) whenever he was in Hogsmeade. Being a publican, Rosmerta was also in an excellent position to overhear conversations and pick up snippets of information that could potentially be useful for the Order. She'd been doubtful at first, but, like many people, trusted the Headmaster of Hogwarts.

She greeted Harry with a warm smile as he walked into the pub. "Come on through," she said, showing him out to the back rooms, into her own living quarters, where Sirius was sat on the sofa, reading the paper (in his human form). He looked up as the door was shut. "Harry!"

Harry returned Sirius' hug enthusiastically. "You look really different!" he marvelled, looking at his godfather.

Sirius grinned. "Dumbledore pulled a few strings. Arranged for Pomfrey to come up here and sort my hair out – to say it needed doing is something of an understatement. And Remus went down to Diagon Alley a few weeks back; I gave him some money to get me some decent clothes and robes – and there was some left over (deliberately, I might add) for him to get himself some decent robes."

"You look great," Harry told him. "Definitely an improvement on before!"

Sirius grinned wryly, glancing down at his now-reasonably presentable self. "Not that that was difficult. Anyway, what do you need to talk to me about so desperately?"

"Can I not just want to see my godfather?" teased Harry.

Sirius playfully whacked him round the head. "I'm assuming this has something to do with Marie-Jeanne Lenoir and Malfoy?" He sat back down on the sofa.

"It does." Harry sat down beside him. "His mother's gone missing – you probably already knew that; it's been in the _Prophet_ often enough – and he's found these letters from when Narcissa and Marie-Jeanne were penpals. And Lucius isn't exactly the most wonderful of fathers, either. He's hit Draco several times and bullies him really badly. No matter how much Draco boasts, I'd say it's pretty obvious he's putting on a big act."

Sirius nodded. "Lucius Malfoy's always been an arrogant bully. He was in his seventh year here when I was a first-year. Slytherin, naturally. He'd ruled the roost from pretty much his first day as a first-year, from what I can gather." He scowled contemptuously. "Anyway, I can't say I really understand the reasons behind this sudden truce between yourself and young Draco."

"Lucius wants him to become a Death Eater – basically become a mini-Lucius. Draco, however, doesn't want to. And he's absolutely terrified of his father," explained Harry.

"Ah. I see."

"Whenever he comes back to school after the holidays he's always got a few cuts and bruises on him. I always assumed he'd got them in fights or Quidditch practice – it's a reasonable assumption." He pushed his glasses up his nose and smiled sadly. "You just don't think, do you?"

"No. You don't," agreed Sirius quietly.

"I don't suppose you've been able to find out anything more, have you?"

Sirius nodded grimly. "Oh, I've found out more, all right. Pettigrew's staying with Malfoy – Lucius, I mean. Amazing what can be discovered if you try hard enough. I wasn't seen – I daren't risk Pettigrew recognising me. Oh yes, he's well in there. Before you were born, Pettigrew went out with our French artist for about four months, late 1979. Personally, I'm surprised they lasted that long."

Harry digested this information slowly. He really didn't like the way this was all panning out. "So what do _you_ think happened to Narcissa?" he asked eventually.

"I don't know, Harry; I really don't," Sirius sighed. "I'd bet my innocence on Lucius having a hand in it somewhere down the line, though. He generally does. But it'll be flawlessly covered so that there isn't any chance whatsoever of him being implicated."

They sat in companionable silence for a while, Sirius flicking through the sports pages of the _Prophet._

"Sirius…"

"Yes?"

Harry paused. "Do you have any idea where Voldemort is?"

Sirius put down the paper and sighed heavily. "Since Hallowe'en, neither hide nor hair of him has been glimpsed. I honestly have no idea. I wouldn't be at all surprised if he's being harboured by either Marie-Jeanne or Malfoy. I don't like it one bit; it's unnerving, not knowing what the hell is going on – which I imagine is the point. It creates more panic and fear – the kind of environment he thrives on. That's the whole point of terrorism – half the time you don't actually have to _do _anything; you just have to let them know you _can_."

Harry agreed fervently. "A lot of people are paranoid that he either already has, or is about to, infiltrate the school somehow."

Sirius shifted uneasily on the sofa. "About that…"

"Yes?"

"I – er – heard a rumour…It's being said that there's already a loyal Death Eater inside the school. Nobody knows who is, if it's anyone a all."

Harry stared at him in horror.

----------------------------------------------------

Draco barely registered the information in the letter Hedwig brought him the next day. He hadn't been able to sleep much at all the previous night, sick from fear of what his father might do to him if he _had_ found out about his son's search. Draco had been up since six and was currently wandering aimlessly outside in the thick, swirling snow that was tumbling from the grey-purple sky. He had been too tense to eat any breakfast and, heading inside at midday for lunch, felt distinctly lightheaded and dizzy, ignoring the penetrating, bone-chilling cold dampness of the snow. He had worn a winter cloak but not a hat, scarf or gloves, but he didn't care any more. The emotional and mental pain inflicted on him by his father was far worse than anything physical. He wasn't sure why it had all suddenly hit him – but the fact remained that it had done.

He was just sitting down to a lunch that he had no appetite for, when Lucius swept into the dining room and sat down. Draco ignored him and put all his concentration into trying to force food down his constricted throat. It wasn't working.

"No 'welcome home, Father', Draco?" Lucius inquired pleasantly, an underlying sneer just detectable for those that knew him.

"Welcome home, Father," Draco responded automatically. He stood up. "I'm going up to my room. I'm not hungry and I don't feel well."

"_Go_, then," said Lucius irritably. "I shall be up to deal with you later."

Draco silently left the room, pulling the thick woollen cardigan tightly around his thin body in an attempt to get a bit warmer. He went up to his room, shut the door firmly and lay down on his bed, curled up tightly in a corner of the four-poster double bed. He _did_ feel ill, shivery and yet hot, probably as a result of being out in the snow. He closed his eyes and drifted off into a light, restless sleep from which he was woken about half an hour later by his father entering the room. Groaning quietly to himself, he forced himself into a sitting position.

"I thought I told you to keep _out_ of the meeting room?" inquired Lucius, dangerously cold and quiet. "You weren't…_looking_ for anything by any chance, were you?"

Draco shrugged, drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. "Just my old piano music. Some of it's kept in there, remember?" he prompted his father in an exhausted voice.

Lucius nodded slowly. "If you say so." He whirled round on his heel and swept out of the room, letting the door slam behind him, causing Draco to flinch, and the teenager shivered from his father's voice. He knew an unspoken threat when he heard one.

----------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------

****

TBC

****

Author thanks:

(for chapter 6):

MagickalStar135: Patience!! This fic is over 30 chapters long! You're asking me questions I can't answer without giving the whole plot away!!

For chapter 7:

AshleyPorter

Actionmaster: what if Draco doesn't know who that man is?

Lucidity: I'm taking the "little minx" comment as a compliment!! I'm not telling you if the stranger was Voldemort or someone else, but there are more than a few hints as to his identity!

Frisbee400: I did consider having Draco turn to Snape, but from Draco's perspective it would have been too risky – he knows Snape bears the Dark Mark but he's not entirely sure which side Snape's on; with Harry he does. If you're not convinced about the letter, then I'm not going to tell you! And regarding the Jason Isaacs interview on the CoS DVD, that's what I'm going on, Draco being actually scared of Lucius.

Samhaincat: the plot does indeed thicken. And I aim to please!

AJ: Wow, LONG review!! (blushes redder than Weasley hair) That's a _serious_ compliment! Wow. I feel incredibly honoured that you think I'm that good. I'd love to be as good as JKR, or Tolkien, or any of the really good authors – which is my ultimate goal – although I'm not arrogant enough to think I'm anywhere near that (yet). And choosing between and revising is just _sooooooo_ hard…! ;)

Ruperts-a-Honey: Glad to see someone's willing to be patient!

The Lady Quotes: Awaiting is good! I imagine you're not going to like the last chapter of this fic because it'll mean no more Reaching Maturity???

Evanescent Dawn: oooh, another long review! I like! I know a lot about what makes a good story stand out and how to keep a reader hooked (a lot of it comes naturally, but I've learned a lot more as well). I'm not telling you whether the Fidelius Charm is _actually_ in operation here or whether the stranger (whose identity I will neither confirm nor deny) is merely bluffing. Just because someone attends/attended Beauxbatons, it doesn't necessarily make them one of the 'good' guys. Marie-Jeanne is the same age as Narcissa, who I'm assuming is about 4 or 5 years older than Sirius (and therefore about the same age as Lucius). And no, Draco isn't the only one reaching maturity in this story; a lot of people will be – hence the title; it was originally called "Vicissitudes", but Reaching Maturity fitted far better.

Rinkurocks: read some other reviews for chapter 7 to see who other people think the stranger is (there's at least 3 on the right track!). (blushes) Thanks for the compliment; my writing is one of the very few things I've never lost confidence in.

Atana: I assume you have suspicions as to the identity of the stranger…? I was describing the manor as I see it, seeing as JK's never taken us there. Draco's always struck me as a character who prefers the darkness (like Snape) because he's been brought up in darkness – but there's a difference between darkness and pitch black. Until I went back and reread that part, I didn't realise the symbolism in the strength of the darkness for the different characters.


	9. Back to Lessons Again

Reaching Maturity

Disclaimer: see previous

****

A/N: I am not a medical encyclopaedia. I am a second-year occupational therapy student. We don't do medical procedures and suchlike that the nurses do. Therefore I am no expert on illnesses so don't bother flaming because they will simply be ignored.

****

A/N 2: I _had _intended to post this on Christmas Day. Unfortunately my computer has decided to not like me and I've been struggling to get into my e-mail and several other sites. I've also had my grandmother peering over my shoulder whenever I'm on the computer since Christmas Eve (she, Grandad and one of her sisters went home today, so privacy reigns again in this house!!) – oddly enough, I did _not_ want her watch me post. So this is slightly later than intended, I'm afraid – but it is here!!

----------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------

Chapter 9: Back to Lessons Again

The start of term and the journey back to school on January 2nd couldn't have come too soon for Draco. He was silent on the journey to King's Cross, and slept fitfully on the Hogwarts Express. He was hot and yet he was shivering violently and sweating. The swaying motion of the train did nothing to ease the relentless feelings of nausea, and the headache that he was suffering from made him feel as though his head would explode. He found it impossible to get comfortable, and longed to be able to lie down in a nice, soft bed.

McGonagall met the returning students in the Entrance Hall when they arrived back at school. Her sharp eyes swept the gathered students (some of whom were rather wet, courtesy of water balloons thrown at them by Peeves) before she dismissed them, casting a drying spell on the clothes of the wet ones. She caught Draco before he moved from the pillar he was leaning against for support. "Malfoy, come with me. You're ill," she said briskly. She was concerned when he didn't argue, but then, he was undeniably ill. She had seen the too-bright eyes, the burning cheeks contrasting with the too-pale face, and the perspiration glistening on his forehead. He was shivering and was unsteady on his feet.

As she reached him, she could feel the heat radiating from him and she gently placed a supportive arm around his waist. He stumbled down the steps, allowing her to lead him to the hospital wing. It was a slow journey, but they eventually arrived. Madam Pomfrey immediately began clucking with concern as she bustled up. "What _have _you been up to?" she asked as McGonagall helped him to sit on the nearby bed.

"Out i-in the s-s-snow," Draco whispered through chattering teeth, suddenly feeling unbearably cold again. He hunched over, head dropped, arms wrapped tightly around his thin, shivering body.

Madam Pomfrey tutted as only she could. "Seventeen years old and you _still_ go outside in weather like that without wrapping up properly. I don't know." She shook her head. "We're going to get you into some nice warm clothes and then you can sleep. Does that sound good?"

He nodded briefly, then winced as the movement jarred his already pounding head, unable to prevent a small moan from escaping his lips. He allowed himself to be undressed, too weak to put up a fight or to even care.

As she removed Draco's school shirt and helped him into a warm pyjama top, her eyes widened and she caught McGonagall's eye. The Transfiguration teacher nodded briefly – they had both seen the bruises of varying stages of healing spread across Draco's back. McGonagall set her mouth grimly.

Draco was soon curled up under the warm covers, dozing feverishly, having been persuaded by Pomfrey to take various medicines (all of which, had, as usual, tasted absolutely foul). Pomfrey placed a cold, wet cloth on his forehead. "I don't like those injuries, Minerva."

"Nor do I. Lucius Malfoy has a lot to answer for," McGonagall muttered darkly. She inclined her head towards Draco. "He mustn't know we know. Not yet."

"With a troubled mind – which doubtless he has – young Mr. Malfoy won't be making a fast recovery."

"I know what he's like, but _nobody _deserves to be treated like that – and certainly not by their own father," replied McGonagall tersely, barely concealing her fury. "Mind you, he's changed this year. I could have sworn I saw him and Harry Potter being civil to each other not so long ago. And there's still no sign of his mother, poor child."

Pomfrey nodded, placing cooling packs around Draco's wrists in an effort to bring down his worryingly high temperature, or at the very least prevent it from rising further. He was tossing and turning, making Pomfrey's task far harder than it would otherwise have been, and he was mumbling incoherently

He flung his arms out, perhaps in an attempt to defend himself from some unknown enemy. McGonagall caught them and his eyes fluttered open, though they retained their glazed, unfocused, glassy look. "Won't do it," he muttered. "Not joining. Isn't right."

The Transfiguration teacher sat down beside him on the bed and carefully put her arms round him as he started crying, drawing him into a hug. He stiffened and pulled away, clearly unused to the action from anyone. The most his mother would do was sit beside him; she never actually _touched _him. The only time his father ever touched him was when he hit him. He buried himself deep under the covers, away from everyone. McGonagall got to her feet. "I'm going to dinner," she told Pomfrey. "I'll come back and see how he's doing before I go to bed."

"I'm not letting anyone in to see him; he's too ill. If he's still this bad in the morning, I'm going to have to send for Dr. Jenner," Pomfrey told her, anxiety clear in her voice and her face. "I've dealt with countless Quidditch injuries, Gilderoy Lockhart's meddling, Hagrid's creatures exploding on students, Basilisks, dragon burns, werewolf-related afflictions…It's just so much harder when there are emotional complications." She dimmed the lights with a spell and went back into her office, from where she could still watch Draco. McGonagall left.

----------------------------------------------------

"Another Death Eater? Inside Hogwarts?" Hermione hissed incredulously later that evening in the Gryffindor common room. She, Harry and Ron were huddled in a corner, and Harry was filling her and Ron in on his meeting with Sirius.

"Are you sure he didn't mean Snape?" asked Ron sceptically. "I mean, we know he _was_ one, and technically still _is_…"

Harry shook his head. "Sirius knows I know about Snape. If it was him, he wouldn't bother telling me. No, it has to be someone else."

"Chances are, it's a Slytherin," Hermione reasoned.

"Malfoy," said Ron immediately. "It _has_ to be. We all know what his father's like, and he's just a miniature Lucius Malfoy."

"No. Not Malfoy," Harry replied firmly. "It's not him."

Ron stared at him as though he'd suddenly grown another head. "But – but he's practically _said_ he's going to be a Death Eater!" he spluttered incredulously. "What makes _you_, of _all_ people, say that?"

Harry paused. This could be awkward if he wasn't going to break the other boy's confidence and tell his friends about the truce between them. "I just don't think it's him," he said finally. "It's just a feeling I have – and he's been acting really differently this year, as well."

"But his father's You-Know-Who's right-hand man!"

"Can we _not_ waste the evening talking about Malfoy?" requested Hermione sharply. "We have to see him in lessons often enough as it is, without spending the rest of the time talking about him as well!"

Harry silently thanked her and turned the conversation around to Quidditch – Slytherin were due to play Hufflepuff in a fortnight. It was a safe topic; on that Harry and Ron could discuss for hours. "You know, Ron, it's pretty amazing that Hufflepuff actually won a game," he commented. Hufflepuff had had a torrid couple of years, and this year had been playing absolutely dreadfully. "I wouldn't have thought the current team had it in them."

Ron nodded. "I just hope they can do us a he favour and thump Slytherin for us."

Harry did some quick calculations in his head and then pulled a face. "But if they win by more than two hundred and twenty, they go ahead of us."

"That's not good! Especially _Hufflepuff_, of all the houses!"

Harry nodded, groaning. "Tell me about it. I think we're going to have to pray for a low-scoring game. I don't really care who wins, as long as neither of them get too many points."

"_Such_ a pity Malfoy didn't get the Snitch when we played them!" gloated Ron gleefully. "Slytherin are _last_ at the moment – and I _love _it!"

"Don't forget they've only played one game, and Hufflepuff and ourselves have played two," Hermione reminded him. "They could easily overtake us."

They sat in silence for a while – until they suddenly found themselves getting wet. Ron looked up and saw a small black cloud steadily raining on them. "What the…?" He looked around wildly and spotted Seamus grinning, wand pointed in their direction. "What the hell did you _do_?" he spluttered.

"Mood Charms – remember them?" inquired Seamus cheekily. "I thought you looked a bit mournful; I was right, wasn't I?"

"We'll probably all get pneumonia now!"

"Rubbish!" Hermione scoffed, standing up. "All we have to do is get changed into some dry clothes immediately, and ignore these childish people." She stalked off brusquely with her dignified-Head-Girl air about her. Harry and Ron rolled their eyes at each other before heading up to their own dormitory. Mood Charms, which they'd learned in their third year as a follow-up to Cheering Charms, could be a source of great amusement – when the spell was cast, the weather most appropriate to their current mood hovered above their head.

----------------------------------------------------

Lessons began the next day. Transfiguration passed uneventfully – the class didn't dare to upset McGonagall, who was looking angry, anxious and tired. Nobody wanted a detention. Following the lesson, the Gryffindors hurried to Defence Against the Dark Arts and were greeted cheerfully by Lupin (a bit _too _cheerfully for Harry's liking – teachers being cheerful was always something to be worried about). Moments later the Slytherins arrived and Lupin surveyed the room. "All here…except for Mr. Malfoy. Right, books away. You've got that test I promised you at the end of last term, so I hope you've revised."

So that's_ why he was looking so cheerful_, Harry thought to himself mutinously. Much as he liked Lupin, seeing him obviously relishing watching them suffer was crossing the line.

"You'll find quills with Anti-Cheating Spells on your desks, so put your own away; you won't need them. Please don't try to use your own. Pass the papers back, those of you in the front." He handed a pile of papers to the person sitting at the front of each row, then glanced at the clock. "You have forty minutes. Begin."

The only sounds that could be heard after this pronouncement were the ticking of the clock (which seemed far too loud and far too slow), the frantic scratching of quills on parchment and the occasional groan.

Eventually Lupin announced ten minutes to go, then five minutes, and then it was the end of the test. Lupin collected in the papers and answer scripts. "They'll be marked in time for your next lesson. Dismissed."

The students raced for the door and their next lesson, although Harry did not join them and instead approached Lupin's desk. "Professor Lupin?"

"Yes, Harry?"

Harry hesitated. "What's wrong with Malfoy? How comes he wasn't in the lesson? Is he ill?"

Lupin nodded. "Probably a chest infection, coupled with a rather unpleasant fever."

"So he's in the hospital wing?"

"You're awfully concerned," observed Lupin mildly.

Harry shrugged awkwardly. "We – er – we've kind of called a truce."

"I did wonder. Now be off with you; I don't want to be held responsible for you being late to a lesson."

"Yes, sir." And he left.

----------------------------------------------------

"They can't send Jenner – apparently he's unavailable, so they'll be sending Lister instead," Pomfrey informed McGonagall as she read the letter she held in her hand. "Lister won't be able to come until tomorrow morning at the earliest. _Honestly_. These people have _no_ idea how ill this poor child is!"

McGonagall arched one eyebrow at Pomfrey's reference to Draco Malfoy, eighteen in two months' time, as a 'child'. She exchanged looks with Snape, who had just arrived and taken his place by the nearby window. "I would hardly call him a child, Poppy," she said crisply.

"_Hmph_." Pomfrey snorted derisively. "While he is a student at this school, under my care, I shall call him what I please."

"Of course, Poppy, of course," murmured Snape. Pomfrey glared at him as she placed fresh cooling packs around Draco's wrists.

"How is he?" inquired Snape, glancing out of the window at the cold January twilight.

Pomfrey exchanged looks with McGonagall. "His temperature's higher than when Minerva brought him to me yesterday evening. He's delirious. Keeps muttering all sorts of odd things."

"Like what?" asked Snape sharply.

"That he 'won't go over' and that he 'won't do it'. Don't think he knows what he's talking about. Nonsense, most likely, from bad dreams," answered Pomfrey briskly. "And now the Community Healers' office is giving me a lot of hassle that, quite frankly, I _really_ don't need. Jenner's apparently away and they're sending Lister, but _he_ can't come until tomorrow at the absolute earliest." She practically spat out the last three words, so annoyed was she. "I've not seen a child this ill for a long time." She shook her head anxiously as she watched Draco's restless tossing in the bed as he struggled to get comfortable, mumbling incoherently.

"Have you sent for his father?" asked Snape.

"Certainly not!" exclaimed Pomfrey in horror. "That would surely only serve to aggravate the child's distress."

Snape looked taken aback. "Why? Is there something that I should know, Poppy? He is in my house, after all."

"Lucius has been hitting him. We found bruises all over his body," McGonagall informed him tersely. "I never liked that little –" She called Lucius Malfoy an extremely rude name that made the other staff members look at her incredulously and caused Poppy to gasp, "_Minerva_!"

Snape's face darkened considerably. If one of Seamus' Mood Charms had been hovering above him, there would have been a full-scale thunderstorm taking place. "That man will have a _lot_ to answer for." He glanced up at McGonagall. "You go, Minerva. I'll take over now." He watched as the Deputy Headmistress left the ward and he leaned back against the wall.

A couple of minutes later, a knock sounded on the door. "Madam Pomfrey?"

"Come in," called Pomfrey softly, not wanting to disturb Draco.

Hesitantly, Harry poked his head around the door – and froze when he saw Snape standing there. He gulped; he hadn't expected the Head of Slytherin to be standing there.

"_Potter_? Not planning on sabotaging my Seeker, are you?" inquired Snape coolly, obsidian eyes glittering.

Harry was about to respond when Madam Pomfrey bustled up. "Mr. Malfoy will _not_ be playing Quidditch at all in the near future!" she snapped. "And if he gets much worse, Professor, you won't _have_ a Seeker!"

Harry stared at her in shock. "That – that bad?" he stammered.

Pomfrey nodded curtly. "You two keep the noise down. I'll be in my office." She bustled off again.

Snape sat down and indicated that Harry should do so. "I understand that you and Mr. Malfoy have called a…truce, Potter. Is that correct?"

"How do you know?" demanded Harry.

"Lupin. I must say it's interesting; very interesting."

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, aware of Snape's piercing gaze on him, unsure whether the teacher was being sarcastic or not. "Malfoy called the truce."

Snape stood. "I shall see you in Potions, Potter." He turned to a Potions journal that he had pulled out of his pocket. Harry took that as his cue to leave, and he did so gratefully, glad to be out of Snape's unnerving presence.

----------------------------------------------------

Lister arrived early the next morning, and was greeted wearily by Madam Pomfrey. "Thank goodness you're here at last!" she cried in relief.

"How is he?" asked the Healer as he followed Pomfrey to Draco's bed.

"About the same as when I sent the letter. Perhaps ever so slightly better, although it's hard to tell. He's certainly more aware of things, at any rate."

McGonagall glanced up briefly as Pomfrey and Lister entered. She was sitting on the bed, arms around Draco as he shook, partly from the fever and partly because he was crying. "Mr. Malfoy, the doctor's here," she told him gently.

Draco was vaguely aware of McGonagall lying him back down on the bedsheets, twisted and damp with sweat. His head felt ready to explode, as though there were red-hot hammers inside his skull. On top of that, he felt extremely sick and was unable to stop the constant shivering. He was desperately hot and, at this point in time, didn't think things could possibly get any worse. In his fever-driven dreams, he'd been having constant nightmares of his father forcing him to join Voldemort, with threats of horrific torture and death if he disobeyed. Then there was the dark, faceless, cloaked figure that tortured him and his mother relentlessly. He could hear his mother screaming, but wherever he looked, he was unable to see her.

Somehow he managed to answer Lister's questions. After that, he was carried to a large, comfortable armchair by a fire while his bed was changed. Someone – Madam Pomfrey? – washed the sweat from his clammy skin and helped him into fresh, clean pyjamas before he was carried back to bed. The clean cotton sheets were smooth and unwrinkled, and wonderfully cool. He didn't fight sleep (assisted, he suspected, by some kind of potion slipped into his water) and he drifted into another feverish sleep, full of nightmares.

----------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------

****

TBC

Author thanks:

Actionmaster

Samhaincat: 'poor Draco' indeed; my plot to win him the sympathy vote is succeeding! Yay!

Lucidity: Draco's health is going to become a significant issue…

The Lady Quotes: but it won't be ending for a good while yet – my estimate is about 5 months or so. And yes, poor Draco isn't well at all!!

Evanescent Dawn: you give me a long review, I give you a long reply! I love your reviews! We did not have a white Christmas; not surprising, given my close proximity to the urban heat island that is London. Some of my friends in Yorkshire and Lancashire had snow, though. Draco has no broken bones, I am pleased to report.

I didn't know it was humanly possible for Pettigrew to get a girlfriend either – but then, they said the _Titanic_ would never sink. Besides which, I know far more about Marie-Jeanne than you. Do you honestly think I would make Snape "the" Death Eater in the school? There are a few small, subtle hints in the story – but there are very few. Regarding Dumbledore doing something, I'm not so sure. He's definitely pro-Gryffindor and distinctly anti-Slytherin, whatever he says to Harry in earlier books; have you read my fic "Damage Done"? That should give you quite a few clues as to my line of thinking on this issue. I was a freak at school for 7 years and not one of the 'acceptable' people, so I know what it must be like for the Slytherins.

'Vicissitudes' is a very posh word for 'changes'. You speculated on its origins – _That would be the French. Latin-based, of course. Inventors of mayonnaise_. (Actually, in all honesty, I haven't a clue about its origins).

Ruperts-a-Honey: (blushes) Really glad you're enjoying it! Marie-Jeanne may yet get further mentions…

A Monkey's Harp: thanks for the 'hug'; it does make me feel better. ;) I completely agree with you about Lucius; he's just 100 evil!! (Well, maybe 99). Do you really think I'm going to tell you in advance if Draco's going to find his mother???

Atana: (blushes) praise from an outstanding author such as yourself – I feel honoured. I agree with you on the Lucius issue.

Riob: Draco's not the world's greatest morning person either, which doesn't help!! I'm generally not _too_ bad, although I'm still more an owl than a lark. Is your house warm yet? (shivers). Pleased you liked the description; it's how I imagine the Manor to be. Not telling you what's in the storage room!!

Rebell: Yay! Another new reviewer! (blushes Weasley-hair-red from praise). You may well be on the right tracks about the visitors to the Manor – the hints are carefully selected and I wanted my readers to be able to guess this – but I shall neither confirm nor deny!! The Manor is sort of based on classic images of big scary haunted houses.

AshleyPorter: keep the Draco-sympathy coming!!


	10. Peeves Upsets Snape

Reaching Maturity

Disclaimer: see previous

****

A/N: I am not a medical encyclopaedia. I am a second-year occupational therapy student. We don't do medical procedures and suchlike that the nurses do. Therefore I am no expert on illnesses so don't bother flaming because they will simply be used to toast marshmallows.

----------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------

Chapter 10: Peeves Upsets Snape

"No Malfoy again?" commented Ron as they waited outside the Potions dungeon that afternoon for the start of their lesson.

"He's really ill," Harry informed him brusquely, in a low voice.

"How bad?" asked Hermione, equally quietly.

"_Really_ bad."

"Get in!" Snape ordered form the back of the queue of seventh-years (which was directly behind the Gryffindor trio). "Potter, a brief word."

Harry exchanged looks with Hermione, mouthing, _What have I done now?_ at her. He waited as Snape has asked, and the teacher spoke to him when everyone else was inside the room. "I overheard your discussion with Granger and Weasley just now. Draco's starting to show signs of improvement, although he's in no fit state to be playing Quidditch just yet – and Poppy would cause no end of trouble if he attempted to do so." His tone changed abruptly. "In, before I take twenty points from Gryffindor for loitering in the corridors."

Harry scuttled into the dungeon and took his place between Ron and Hermione. They, along with the rest of the class, were silently watching Peeves writing extremely rude words on the board, mainly about Snape.

The dungeon door banged shut, the sound echoing throughout the room, and a number of objects on the shelves shuddered and rattled from the force of the bang. Snape walked swiftly, silently, to the front of the room. Peeves had not yet seen him; he had been too absorbed in his activity to hear the slam of the dungeon door.

"I hope that you do not mean what you have just written, Peeves," said Snape, his voice dangerously quiet.

Peeves did a somersault and faced Snape. "Oh, but I _do_, Professor. I mean every word of it." He cackled loudly and threw the chalk at Snape, hitting him on his rather large nose.

"_Out_."

"Shan't." Peeves blew a raspberry. "You aren't my teacher. How about me breaking a few more cauldrons, Snapey?"

Snape's dark eyes narrowed. "You do and you are _out_ of here." He raised his wand. "I could Summon the Bloody Baron…"

Peeves' expression lost some of its cockiness and laughed nervously. "I – I was just leaving. Forgive Peevesy his little joke, your Professorness." With that, he bowed and zoomed out of the room through the door. Snape was seething, and Peeves' little stunt meant that for once, not even the Slytherins escaped his scathing tongue – he took ten points from Zabini and Nott's red-coloured potion that was supposed to be –

"Translucent blue," Snape informed them acidly, before removing the points. "I never thought that seventh-years could _possibly_ be this stupid; you have managed to surpass even Longbottom in stupidity levels. Next time make sure you can actually _read_ the instructions _before_ you come to the lesson. If you can't, get someone else to read it to you." Zabini and Nott turned as red as their potion, which Snape disposed of with a flick of his wand before he assigned them detention. Everyone was immensely relieved to escape the dungeons and get out into the fresh air.

"I can't believe Snape!" Ron exclaimed. "What is his _problem_? I mean, I knew Peeves did that stuff last year, but still…"

"Maybe he's worried about Malfoy," suggested Harry. "I heard they had to call a doctor in."

"It must be bad, then," said Hermione soberly. "I can't remember the last time that happened."

Ron tutted loudly. "For God's _sake_!" he exploded. "Do you _have_ to talk about _Malfoy_?" He stormed off towards Gryffindor Tower, causing several students to turn and raise their eyebrows in surprise.

Harry and Hermione watched him go and Hermione turned to Harry. "Spit it out," she ordered. "What's going on? And _don't_ say it's nothing; I know you too well, Harry Potter."

"I don't know what you're talking about," retorted Harry defiantly.

"Oh, give it up!" Hermione hissed furiously. "What do you think I am – stupid?"

Harry said nothing, but folded his arms across his chest.

"If you don't tell me, I'll write to Sirius…" She smirked; she had won and they both knew it.

Harry sighed, defeated. "We've called a truce. That's all there is to it. Don't push me any more, Herm. _Please_," he added desperately.

Hermione was silent for a moment, thinking. Eventually she relented. "I suppose so."

"I'm going to see Hagrid during Break. You coming?" Harry asked her.

"I should really look over my notes for the next lesson…"

Harry grabbed her hand and tugged her along, effectively ending her protests. When they arrived at Hagrid's hut, Fang was fast asleep in his basket and the two took their huge mugs of tea outside while Hagrid updated them on some creatures he was meant to be acquiring for his fifth-years' lesson.

----------------------------------------------------

A week passed before Madam Pomfrey allowed Draco any visitors besides Snape. Pansy Parkinson was first, although he originally pretended to be asleep until he had had enough and then told her in no uncertain terms to shut up and go away. Miffed, she stood up. "That's OK, Draky. You're bound to be irritable while you're still so ill." When she bent down to kiss him, he pulled away and she stormed out, banging the door behind her. Pomfrey went flying after her and gave her a long lecture about disturbing her patients.

As he still wasn't deemed well enough to get out of bed, he tried to sleep instead. As he lay down, he was hit by a violent coughing fit – something that he'd been suffering from a lot. It jarred his constantly aching head badly. Pomfrey gave him a half-teasing lecture about the risks of going out in a near-blizzard. He'd found himself warming to the school mediwitch recently, and was now able to take her teasing in good humour.

A while later he awoke to find Harry sitting in the chair Pansy had vacated earlier. "How are you?" asked Harry awkwardly.

Draco shrugged. "Tired. I've got a headache and a nasty cough. I feel _great_," he retorted sarcastically.

Harry glared at him. "I didn't come just to get a whole load of abuse off you, Malfoy!"

Draco flinched. "Don't suppose you've heard anything about my mother, have you?" he asked, before he was hit by another coughing fit. It was several minutes before it subsided and when it did, he collapsed back against the pillows, exhausted. Pomfrey arrived with a jug of water and a glass in her hand. "Drink," she ordered, handing him the glass. "_All_ of it."

Shakily, Draco took the glass from her, not daring to disobey her. It tasted awful; she'd definitely put something in it.

"Good boy. Now, don't go getting yourself worked up." Pomfrey turned to Harry. "Mr. Potter, make sure he behaves himself." There was a twinkle in her eye as she walked off to check on a third-year that was suffering from the effects of a miscast spell in Transfiguration.

"I haven't heard anything, I'm afraid," Harry told him. "Sirius is doing all he can to find things out, though – and he's got a lot of links. But it's like she's just vanished into thin air."

Draco slowly struggled into a sitting position, a fearful look on his face. "You don't – you don't think she's…_dead_, do you?" he asked hesitantly.

Harry reluctantly nodded. "We have to view that as a serious possibility. That, or she could be held prisoner somewhere. There's also the chance that she could have left of her own accord."

Draco frowned. "But surely she'd leave a note or something? Maybe contact me since she left? I _am _her only child, after all."

"Not necessarily. Going slightly off the point here, but when I was ten, there was a supposed 'big scandal' in Privet Drive. Mrs. Morris left Mr. Morris one day. Nobody knew anything. No note or anything." Harry shrugged. "It can happen."

"But it's unlikely," said Draco dully.

"I'd say so."

Draco agitatedly fiddled with the blanket covering him. "Harry, there's some important stuff in Herbology I'm missing. Could – could you get Hannah Abbott to come up and help me with my work? I don't want to get behind, and Hannah's my greenhouse partner."

Harry blinked at him. "Do you realise how like Hermione you sound?"

Draco looked distinctly uncomfortable at this comparison. "Father's been on at me since my OWL results. I have to do well in my NEWTs; I _have_ to!"

"What's all this about _schoolwork_?" demanded Pomfrey, hurrying over the moment her ears had detected academically-related words. "You'll talk of no such thing yet, Mr. Malfoy. Give yourself time to recover first." She went back to the third-year.

"_Please_, Harry!" Draco pleaded desperately, speaking quietly to avoid Pomfrey overhearing.

Harry glanced at his watch and stood up. "I'll see what I can do," he promised. "I should go; lunch'll be starting in a minute." He walked out and down to the Great Hall. On the way, he met the aforementioned Hannah Abbott, a pretty Hufflepuff girl with thick blonde hair and kind blue eyes. She was also a prefect. "Hannah, could I have a word with you?"

She stopped. "Of course. Is something wrong?"

Harry shook his head. "No no. It's just that Malfoy wants you to go up to see him in the hospital wing – he's worried about missing some important work and he said you're his greenhouse partner so he wants _you_ to keep him up-to-date, rather than anyone else."

Hannah eyed him suspiciously. "I thought you two hated each other's guts?" she inquired warily. "How do I know this isn't one of your big Gryffindor pranks on the thick, gullible Hufflepuffs?"

"It's not. Look, you'll just have to trust me. Will you go?"

Hannah paused, then nodded. "Oh, I might as well."

"Great. Thanks!" Harry hurried off to the Hall to sit with his friends. Hannah watched him go, puzzled. Then she dismissed it – she knew that Draco was ill, so she merely assumed that Harry had got injured in a Quidditch practice (nothing new) and he had happened to talk to Malfoy. She didn't actually mind going – Draco had always been fairly decent to her.

She ate her lunch quickly while discussing the morning's lessons with Susan Bones and Ernie Macmillan, and then went up to the hospital wing, schoolbag on her back. Pomfrey let her in. "He's tired, so no more than ten minutes," she cautioned. Hannah nodded and sat down beside Draco, who looked up from the book he was reading. "Hi," he greeted her, his voice weary.

"I've only got ten minutes, so I can't really do much with you today," she apologised.

"I don't care. Maybe next time you come up we can do more." He put his book on the bedside table and lay down, shivering slightly. His head was beginning to ache badly. "Just tell me what's going on in school. I'm missing it all, being up here."

"McGonagall took thirty points off Slytherin at lunch yesterday because they started a food fight, and fifteen off Ravenclaw for retaliating. Flitwick chucked Parvati Patil out of Charms for putting make-up on in his lesson _and_ he confiscated it. And – and Pansy Parkinson was seen kissing Blaise Zabini. Very intimately," Hannah told him, nervous as she delivered the last item of news.

"Thank God for that," Draco murmured, closing his eyes in an effort to get rid of the flashing lights that were clouding his vision. It didn't work, and he was starting to feel nauseous.

Pomfrey came over. "Miss Abbott, you should go now, if you don't want to be late for your lesson."

Hannah smiled at Draco, her eyes dancing. "I do believe I'm being kicked out." She stood up and picked up her bag, throwing it onto her back, giving his hot hand a small, comforting squeeze. "I'll be up to see you later, Draco," she promised.

He heard her leave, and opened his eyes. "Madam Pomfrey…"

"What's wrong?" the mediwitch asked.

"There are these weird flashing lights in front of my eyes," he whispered. "My head's pounding and I feel sick."

"Migraine," Pomfrey informed him briskly. "You've never had one before? Thought not. Those are common symptoms. I'll give you something for it." She left and returned moments later, a glass with a dark blue liquid in a glass. "Get it down you."

He took it from her, but his hand was shaking so badly that some of the liquid splashed onto the bedclothes. Wordlessly Pomfrey took the glass from his hand. "Let me."

He hated feeling so helpless, but he allowed her to do so nonetheless. He was very rarely ill, so he was unused to this kind of treatment. He was oscillating between the extremes of hot and cold. He could feel the sweat trickling down his face and body, and he clenched his fists tightly, digging his nails into his palms so that he could focus on that pain instead of his pounding head and his aching, sweating, shivering body. The migraine was intensifying and he couldn't prevent a small moan from escaping his lips. Pomfrey was immediately at his side, and she was quick to place a fresh, cold cloth on his forehead and cooling packs around his wrists, before darkening the room with her wand. She didn't like this one bit, and was anxious about the Slytherin's rising temperature. This done, she sat down beside the bed to keep watch, worrying over the nature of Draco's illness. _There's something not quite right about this_, she thought to herself.

----------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------

****

TBC

Author thanks:

Ruperts-a-Honey

A Monkey's Harp: I'm not telling you if Draco's OK or not! And I'm taking 'cruel' as a compliment!

AshleyPorter: keep up with the Draco-sympathy! There should be lots more to come!

Lucidity: come, now; I'm hardly going to go killing off _Draco_ of all people, am I?! There will be a little more Snape further on, but he's not particularly prominent in this fic. Virtual chocolate sounds tempting…I hope it's Fairtrade chocolate!!

Evanescent Dawn: 'Damage Done' is one of my fics (scroll down my profile and you should find it). Poppy's always come across as strict and firm, yet warm and maternal – it's why she's so good at her job. I'm intrigued – who _do_ you think the Death Eater is? Re the whole thing with Lupin's excessive cheerfulness – a lot of my teachers always seemed far more cheerful than normal when they were clutching test papers in their hands, and my dad (before he quit teaching last summer) always _relished_ tests! Snape does care a great deal for Draco, but he's not very good at showing it. Draco says thanks for the best wishes you sent!

The Lady Quotes: I'll pass on the "flowers, candy and other good stuff" to Draco, providing Poppy lets him have them!!

Rebell: I _know_ you can't help but feel sorry for Draco!! I love evoking these kind of emotions in a reader!! Hee hee!! I'm cruel, I know. My purpose in life is to get the poor kid some overdue sympathy! And don't bounce too much; damage could be caused!

Riob: No names beginning with X. That's absolutely definite (although you could always look on the Harry Potter Lexicon – that's supposed to be a very good website; and no, I don't know the website address). You would indeed be correct about staffroom gossip! Teachers rarely talk about anything but the pupils in the staffroom!! (And if there are two from the same school that are married to each other they continue to discuss the kids at home as well – believe me on this; I know!) Pomfrey's aware of the truce. She picks up on far more than people realise. (Turns Weasley-hair-red from praise). Wow. Making someone feel ill just from reading my stuff is a new thing for me! My writing must be effective! ;) I hope you don't remember _too_ much about the original story – it'll ruin some of that carefully-built tension!

TinorialPeredhil: Of course Lucius is good at what he's doing; it's how he's got as far as he has done! "The Final Showdown" is indeed intended to sound brutal; these things always are. I'm not _trying_ to give you heart failure; **I won't be held responsible for anything that happens to any of my readers in the course of reading this story. They read it entirely at their own risk.** And keep the Draco sympathy coming! And I was always wary of super-cheerful teachers – for a good reason! And for chapter 9 – such a nice _loooooong_ review!!


	11. Learning the Patronus Charm

Reaching Maturity

Disclaimer: see previous

****

A/N: This is a good point to reiterate that this was written before OotP came out, so really, don't bother flaming to say "but they did this in fifth year" – I _know_ that, but I really cannot be bothered to rework vast amounts of this story because, quite frankly, I don't have the time or the incentive. I like this story the way it is. So there. Let's just say that in the summer between 5th and 6th year, the Ministry regained control of the Dementors and reinstated them as the guards of Azkaban. Any flames will be used to toast marshmallows.

****

A/N 2: apologies for the long delay in posting, but I had a few days without Internet access and now I'm back at college I have work – and the dreaded ESSAYS. Three 3,500-word essays and a 3-hour exam – clinical governance, mental health policy since Blair came to power (am _not_ going to start going on about that man) and community care, and the exam is on physical health and trauma. Not that you're interested, I suspect.

----------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------

Chapter 11: Learning the Patronus Charm

The following Saturday dawned sunny and crisply cold. The Quidditch match was Hufflepuff v Slytherin, the latter of whom had been forced to replace Draco with a big, sullen sixth-year as Seeker. It caused the Hufflepuff Seeker to eye him warily.

The match didn't last long. The Snitch was caught after fifteen minutes, and Slytherin won 170-10. That meant that Slytherin were two hundred points behind Gryffindor, and Hufflepuff were behind them by two hundred and fifty, with all three having played two matches. Ravenclaw had currently only played one match.

Harry went up to the hospital wing after the match – a Bludger, hit by a Slytherin Beater, had, he suspected, broken his wrist. Madam Pomfrey immediately healed it and told him to be careful for the next few days and that he should be grateful that it wasn't his wand hand.

"Can I see Malfoy?" asked Harry when Pomfrey had finished bandaging his wrist.

She shook her head. "Absolutely not."

"Why?"

"He's got worse. Too ill for visitors. Wouldn't know you were there. Go back to your common room and tell Miss Abbott the same if you happen to see her," she returned brusquely, practically throwing him out of the infirmary. She watched him go before returning to check on Draco. Snape and McGonagall were both there, keeping vigil. Draco had resumed his tossing and turning and incoherent mumbling.

"What did Potter want?" inquired McGonagall.

"Injured wrist. One of your Beaters, Severus, hit a Bludger into the crowd."

"And you want me to do _what, _exactly, about it?" inquired Snape testily.

"Instruct them to refrain from hitting those vile _things_ at innocent spectators!" Pomfrey snapped. "The other house teams manage it; why can't yours?"

"Are you implying that I cannot control my students?" inquired Snape in a cold, cutting tone.

He received an extremely irritated "_Hmph_!" from Madam Pomfrey.

"Can you two please refrain from childish squabbling for once?" McGonagall interrupted irritably.

Snape straightened. "I must go. I have the entirety of the Ravenclaw sixth-year in detention. Not a single one of them made the Extinguishing Potion correctly." He swept out of the room.

----------------------------------------------------

Harry and Ron were the first to arrive for DADA on Monday. To their surprise, both Lupin and Figg were there. Lupin greeted them cheerfully and Figg nodded briefly in their direction. The rest of the class arrived soon afterwards and were quick to settle down after a pointed look from Figg.

Lupin stood up. "I'm about to teach you all some extremely advanced magic – the Patronus Charm." He winked at Harry. "A true Patronus will charge down Dementors and get rid of them from where you are. I'm pretty certain that nobody's established where it is that they flee _to_, but I generally wouldn't worry as long as they're nowhere near you. I'm certainly not expecting you to conjure anything like a true Patronus in your first lesson; it took Harry two terms to master it, and he's an exceptional wizard." He began talking about the Patronus and the theory behind it – which they would need to know for the NEWT exam in the summer.

"What that cool or _what?!_" Seamus exclaimed at the end of the lesson. "I'm not sure what my happy memory'll be, though."

"Mine _definitely _won't be Potions," remarked Neville wryly, making everyone laugh. Laughing and joking, they made their way back to their common room to drop their bags off before heading down to the Great Hall for lunch. The teachers' table, surprisingly, had Professor Trelawney sitting at it.

"What's she doing down here?" hissed Ron in amazement. "She _never _leaves her tower room!"

Harry snorted derisively and rolled his eyes. "She probably looked into her crystal ball and saw her joining us for lunch – and who is she to resist the call of Fate?"

"Have you no respect?" Parvati demanded, overhearing. "I'd love to have the ability to See like her." She sighed dreamily.

The boys looked at each other and burst out laughing. "I can _See_ past that fake personality a lot more than you can!" Ron wisecracked.

"Just because you can't See like she can, it doesn't mean you're allowed to mock her for it!" Parvati retorted. "_I_ think she's amazing; despite all the attitudes against her –" here she glared at the boys, who were still shaking with laughter, "– she still perseveres with it."

"Oh, for goodness' sake, Parvati, put a sock in it!" Seamus retorted scornfully.

"Remember Harry's Divination exam in third year?" persisted Parvati.

"Yeah – a grand total of oooh…_two_ predictions over the span of what? Twenty years? Come off it, Parvati," Harry reasoned. "Even Hermione can tell the difference between a real prediction and vague guesswork, and she doesn't even take the stupid subject!"

"_Some_ people have _no_ respect for their teachers," Parvati sniffed haughtily.

"Not the fake ones, no," Ron agreed. "Or prats like Lockhart."

"Hey, I've just had an idea – maybe the Fates will inform her of what's on our summer exam," said Neville hopefully. "That could prove to be useful."

"_Honestly_!" Parvati uttered a long-suffering sigh and, having finished her lunch, flounced out of the Great Hall.

"How pathetic is she?" asked Ron impatiently, jerking his head towards Parvati's retreating back. "I mean, I could understand if she was going on about respecting Lupin or McGonagall or someone like that, but Trelawney is just _not_ worth it."

"Don't be _too _harsh on her, Ron!" Ginny chastised from nearby. "She has made _some _proper predictions, after all."

Dean shrugged. "She's still not worth _revering_."

----------------------------------------------------

"_Please,_ Madam Pomfrey! I feel _fine!_" Draco wheedled a week later. He seemed to have recovered from his illness, although his cough hadn't shifted completely. "I've been up and about for the past two days and I know I can cope with lessons. _Please?_ Look, just see how I get on in lessons this morning. If I feel ill, I'll come back up here. I promise."

"I'll make sure of that," added Hannah. She'd been coming to see him every day, and the two had struck up an unlikely friendship that had surprised everyone, save perhaps Dumbledore.

"Hmmm…" said Madam Pomfrey, wavering. "Maybe…"

"We've got twenty minutes till lessons and I still have to get my books," Draco informed her.

"Oh, go on then," Pomfrey said, relenting. She shook her head. "I can't remember the last time a student was so eager to get to lessons. But report to me at lunchtime, Mr. Malfoy. Miss Abbott, see that he does."

"Yes, ma'am," they replied in unison, saluting her before hurrying off.

"And _don't run in the corridors!_" she hollered after them.

Obediently they slowed to a fast walk. "What's your first lesson?" asked Hannah as they neared her common room.

"Potions. You?"

"History of Magic," she groaned. "Why I took it I _don't _know. So I'll be half asleep by the time I see you in Herbology."

"See you then. You have my sympathies, by the way." He glanced at his watch and quickened his pace as he made his way down to the Slytherin common room. On arrival, he noticed that it was virtually deserted apart from three fifth-year girls discussing and applying makeup. Draco didn't think that any amount of makeup would make any of them even remotely pretty. He ignored them and headed up to his dormitory, collected his books and went to Snape's lesson. The head of Slytherin was the only one there when Draco arrived, and he glanced up when his student walked in. "Poppy released you?" he inquired, a hint of surprise in his voice.

Draco nodded.

"Don't overdo it," the teacher advised him briskly. "Now sit down and get your things out. We're working on the theory behind a powerful sleeping draught that we shall be attempting next lesson. The rest of the class should be along shortly –

"_Peeves!_ Get out!" he barked suddenly as the annoying poltergeist floated casually into the room. Snape raised his wand. "_Accio_ Bloody Baron!"

Peeves froze as, moments later, the Slytherin ghost came zooming into the dungeon. Draco couldn't stop himself from shuddering; even the most hardened Slytherin was uneasy around the silent spectre. Peeves began stammering an insincere apology as the Bloody Baron slowly advanced on him, and he shot off, the Baron close on his heels.

"I will _not _hesitate to do that again if need be!" Snape called after the disappearing poltergeist, just as the rest of the class walked in. "Sit down. Now," he ordered.

Harry sat down next to Draco, where Snape had insisted he sat at the start of the school year. "You OK?" he hissed as Snape cleaned the board and put his papers in order.

"Apart from the cough. Trying to persuade Pomfrey to let me come was tough, but she let me in the end," Draco replied.

Snape cleared his throat pointedly and silence fell. The lesson had begun.

----------------------------------------------------

"…So you see, I'm _fine!_" Draco concluded triumphantly.

"Just let me give you a quick check," Pomfrey insisted. "Come on now, or I won't let you join the others for lunch _or_ go to your lessons this afternoon."

Draco reluctantly got up onto the bed and allowed her to examine him. Satisfied, she nodded. "You'll do. See me before you go to bed tonight – and yes, you can sleep in your own dormitory. But _absolutely no Quidditch!_ Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Now shoo."

He obliged, as quickly as possible, meeting Hannah outside the hospital wing door. "All OK?" she asked.

"All OK," he confirmed. "I've still got to report to her before bed," (here he rolled his eyes), "but at least I don't have to spend another night in _there_." He reached for her hand and squeezed it briefly. "Thanks for coming; apart from Harry, everyone's stopped coming – although regarding Pansy, that's something of a relief. I doubt Crabbe and Goyle have even realised I've been missing. And hopefully Pansy will hook up _permanently_ with Blaise. I owled Father to tell him. He wasn't too happy about it. I, on the other hand, couldn't be happier."

"Let's go for lunch."

----------------------------------------------------

"Reading the stars correctly requires a lot of skill," Professor Trelawney intoned in her misty voice. "We have studied such things before, so please take out your star charts, which I requested you bring to today's lesson."

"How many times is Voldemort going to kill me this time?" Harry murmured under his breath to Ron. "If I died even half the times she said I would, I'd be a medical miracle."

"Tell me about it," Ron agreed. "And –"

"_Boys!_" snapped Trelawney. "Pay attention – we are going into more detail than before. The Fates have notified me that star interpretation will be an integral part of your NEWT examination, so I strongly advise you to pay attention."

The Gryffindor boys, after the conversation at lunch yesterday, didn't dare look at each other, though they were all aware of Parvati's glare boring into them. Harry looked out of the open window, which he'd sat beside to minimise the effects of the heat and perfumes of the Divination teacher's classroom and increase his chances of staying awake. He glanced out of it and spotted a large, shaggy black dog in far below in the grounds. His stomach tightened; what could Sirius want?

The dog disappeared into the castle. Harry couldn't shake off the feeling of intense foreboding that was now beginning to grow.

----------------------------------------------------

That evening he was summoned to Dumbledore's office. He had managed to put Sirius' earlier appearance to the back of his mind, but now, in the presence of his godfather, it all came flooding back.

"Ah, Harry," Dumbledore greeted him. "Do come in."

Harry did so. Sirius was standing there, his face tense. "I won't beat around the bush. Voldemort's been seen. Yesterday. Near Carlisle, according to reliable sources. I gather he's been staying down in the West Country. Nice and isolated, the Malfoys' home."

Harry had to grip the edge of Dumbledore's desk to keep himself upright. "Carlisle? But surely that's not that far from here? I mean, aren't we in Scotland somewhere?"

Sirius nodded grimly. "He and Pettigrew have been staying with Malfoy for quite a while now. I'm not sure what it is exactly that they're plotting, but I'm pretty convinced that, a) it can't be anything good, and b) that it concerns Harry in some capacity."

Harry sat down heavily in a chair. "Can he get into the castle?"

"No," said Dumbledore firmly. "All the…ahem, _little-known_ entrances into the castle are under scrutiny. But we have no doubt that he has other ways." He looked meaningfully at Sirius.

"He already knows that there's a Death Eater in the school, Albus," Sirius answered brusquely. "What we _don't _know – even you don't – is who it is."

"Malfoy said something about Joseph Flint," Harry supplied.

"Flint?" said Sirius keenly. "I was a few years below his father, Warno Flint, at school. He went to Azkaban last year for Death Eater-related activities. His elder son Marcus went down with him, if I recall correctly. It wouldn't surprise me if Joseph was a Death Eater." He paced the room impatiently. "But we don't have any evidence." He sat down. "We need to think this through."

"If you'll excuse us, Harry," said Dumbledore. Harry got the message and left. He spent the rest of the evening playing chess with Ron – and lost spectacularly.

----------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------

TBC

Author thanks:

Actionmaster: sometimes you have to have slower chapters – it can't all be fast and furious. Besides, there are one or two significant things in chapter 10.

Rebell: hmmm…you've given me an idea for a one-shot humour spin-off from this fic…And I have essays and an exam soon! Noooo! I wrote the whole migraine thing from experience; I've fortunately only had a few, but they are absolutely _horrible_.

Lucidity: I wish I could answer the Peeves thing. I wonder if maybe the Bloody Baron was the cause of his death…? JK's probably got some unexpected twist up her sleeve about Peeves; I wouldn't put it past her! I thought you'd like the Snape bit. I'm not telling you about whether Voldemort or Lucius did anything to Draco, or whether he's just very vulnerable to illnesses at the moment. Narcissa's sidelined for a bit at this point in the story.

Rinkurocks: Yay! More Draco sympathy! I'm very good at angsty stuff; I write a lot of it. I can't answer your question about why some people think Blaise Zabini is a girl; JK only recently said anything on the matter. I'd actually written Blaise both ways until JK said that that particular character is male.

A Monkey's Harp: I'm not commenting on Draco's illness – although there is a possibility that some reviewers are reading slightly too much into this topic…Hermione's actually really easy for me to keep in character; I'm a lot like her – although not anywhere near as bossy! I confess that I am not actually a huge Ron fan. He irritates me sometimes. (blushes red at compliments) Thank you.

Cloud of Dreams: comments have been taken on board and I will endeavour to learn from them. I didn't want to make the romantic pairing _too_ subtle. Yes, I know Hannah said ten minutes, but that was how long she had and she wasn't anticipating Madam Pomfrey having different ideas and deciding to throw her out early! Regarding Draco's illness, it's a little more complex than just one condition. And while I appreciate your comments about Harry, remember that he's not always the subtlest of people – and Hermione is rather more perceptive than the average person, and Ron tends to be fairly dense when it comes to some matters.

Samhaincat: oooh, I hate it when you can't log in! It's done that to me a few times – and Hotmail's done it more often than it hasn't over the last 3 weeks while I've been at home (but that could just be our old and temperamental computer). Love that you're loving this fic! Keep up the Draco sympathy!

AshleyPorter: don't ask me questions I can't answer without ruining the plot! You're just going to have to keep hanging on and reading; all will (eventually) be revealed!

Evanescent Dawn: oooh, homework does have that annoying habit of getting in the way, as do essays and exam revision! With Ron, he's always learned to hate everything about the Malfoys and to not even contemplate the fact that perhaps they could accept a second chance. He strikes me as the sort of person who tends to see things more in black and white and to largely ignore the grey areas. I suppose also, as I'm not a very big Ron fan (he irritates me a lot), there is a slight bias against him. Don't know where you'd pay to see Snape blow up – perhaps just watch Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves? That could be the closest you'd get – apart from when OotP movie comes out! Snape does look out for Draco, and I suspect more than we realise – perhaps he thinks that Draco has the potential to be saved? Note also how, in OotP, he calls Draco by his first name rather than his surname. I love Poppy; she's great. Draco's not used to such maternal warmth. If you don't want to broadcast who you think the Death Eater is, tell me in an e-mail; I'm curious.

TinorialPeredhil: I refuse to comment on the romantic situation, but you do know me well!! And no, I'm not a great Ron fan. Peeves is fun to write.

Ruperts-a-honey: not commenting on Draco's health – although there's more suffering for him still…(cackles evilly)When you say "action", I do hope you're not implying romance! Because if you were, you'd be on _completely_ the wrong track! Don't get me wrong, I haven't got a problem with slash fics (there are some excellent Harry/Draco and Lupin/Snape ones out there) but it wouldn't fit in with this story.


	12. A Letter From Narcissa

Reaching Maturity

Disclaimer: see previous

****

A/N: don't suppose there's anyone out there that could help me with Latin, is there? Plural of Hippocampus – I've made a stab at it, but if you want to correct me, please do!!! Riob, are you reading? You did Latin…(hint hint)

****

A/N 2: Tuesday January 18th 2005 – Burnley 1 Liverpool 0!!!! Oh yes!! Rafael Benítez, serves you right for fielding a weakened team! Burnley may be a division below you, but we were the better side on the night!!!!

(Sorry; still on a high from that).

----------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------

Chapter 12: A Letter From Narcissa

Draco couldn't eat his breakfast. He stared uncomprehendingly at the letter on the Slytherin table in front of him.

__

I cannot tell you where I am, for I do not know. I was lucky that an owl came in to where I am being held captive. I am being held prisoner in a distant place. It is unlikely that I will see you again.

Narcissa 

Abruptly he stuffed the letter into his robe pocket and left the Great Hall, biting his lip hard enough to suddenly have the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, to stop himself from crying. He had been dreading something like this, but had tried to force it to the back of his mind, to prevent it from overwhelming his thoughts completely. Now he was scared. Scared that he would never see his mother again. Scared that something terrible was in store for her. Scared that he would lose one of the few people that had shown him any affection in his seventeen – nearly eighteen – years of life. Scared that she would die some horrible, tortured, pain-filled, agonisingly slow death at the hands of maniacs who showed no mercy.

Maniacs that could have him marked as their next victim.

Halfway to his dormitory, he stopped, leaning against a stone pillar, and doubled up, coughing violently as a fit hit him. It felt as though his chest was going to explode and he couldn't breathe. This thought only served to increase his panic and thus the tightness and pain in his chest. The coughing, from the sheer violence of it, soon brought his headache back in full force and he sank to his knees, gripping the nearby vertical railing post for support. Now he'd started coughing he couldn't stop. His entire body _hurt_. He was so focused on his coughing fit that he didn't hear the footsteps behind him.

Hannah put a hand on his shoulder, making him jump. "Sorry," she apologised. Then, "You OK?"

He nodded weakly. "I-I'll be fine in a moment."

She bent down in front of him, hand still on his shoulder, and eyed him critically. "No you're not. I'm getting Madam Pomfrey."

"Don't you dare!" he hissed, one hand shooting up and seizing her wrist tightly.

"But Draco –"

"No buts," he interrupted angrily, taking a deep breath. "I am _perfectly fine_. If Pomfrey hauls me out of lessons, I'll know who ratted on me." He stared hard, evenly, into her eyes, and she saw a flicker of his old, unpleasant personality in the grey depths of his eyes. It scared her (and she was one of the bravest Hufflepuffs). She merely nodded shakily and he released his hold on her. "Good," he said before forcing himself to his feet. "We'd better get to our lessons." Hannah, somewhat scared, hurried off, having a different lesson to Draco, but he remained still for a few more minutes, reading and re-reading his mother's letter. She'd used her name instead of the 'Mother' she used to use. Was there some significance in that?

He listened to absolutely nothing that Flitwick had to say in Charms, and when Hagrid took them down to the lake to show them some Hippocampi for Care of Magical Creatures, he was too preoccupied and upset to bother making any nasty comments about the half-giant. He didn't even bother going to Vector's Arithmancy lesson. Lunch held no appeal for him, although he somehow managed to force himself to eat some of the soup when he sensed Snape's eyes on him.

In Potions that afternoon, it was all he could do to lift _Magical Drafts and Potions_ and _Potions for NEWT Level_ out of his bag. Moments later, Snape swept in, long black robes swishing along the cold stone floor, and deadly silence fell. "I hope you are all prepared to make the sleeping potion I requested you read up on for last lesson's homework. If not, I suggest you leave _now_ and do not ever bother to return to this room. Are you _sure_ you want to stay, Longbottom?"

"Y-yes, Professor," Neville stammered. Once again he wished he hadn't had to take Potions, but he'd managed (somehow) to get the top grade in the subject in his OWLs. And he needed it to complement Herbology for any decent career he had in mind.

"Crabbe? Goyle?" (Only taken on to remain in favour with the Dark Lord).

Dumbly they nodded.

"Good. You have the entire lesson. Begin!"

Harry carefully set about following the instructions in his book. Next to him, Draco was also doing so, but considerably slower, his hands shaking. He was having trouble maintaining the small fire he needed to heat his potion, and Harry went over to him. "Need some help?" he asked in a low voice.

Draco nodded, wiping sweat from his forehead with a trembling hand and coughing weakly. "Thanks," he said hoarsely. He gripped the table with clammy palms and sat down slowly, shakily, on his stool.

"No sitting down!" Snape barked – admittedly at Dean rather than Draco. "It is a basic safety rule. If the cauldron spills its contents, or the potion spits or explodes, you are _far_ more likely to get injured if you're sitting down, because you cannot escape as quickly_. Is that understood_?"

Dean, red-faced, nodded and Draco got to his feet again, still leaning on the table for support. Harry had just turned to go back to his own cauldron, when Draco felt his legs giving way. He collapsed to the floor, letting out a small cry as he fell. Fortunately he did not hit his head on the floor, but he was unconscious. Snape was instantly beside him, kneeling next to him and briefly examining him. "Granger! Get Pomfrey!" he ordered Hermione, the person closest to the door. She obligingly dashed off and Snape cast a spell that extinguished all of the fires in the room. "What happened?" he demanded, looking up from Draco's still form.

"He just…collapsed," stuttered Harry. "He didn't look well, right from the start of the lesson. He asked me to light his fire because he couldn't – his hands were shaking really badly. He looked really ill."

"Tried to come back to lessons too soon," deduced Snape softly, shaking his head.

The dungeon was silent, the seventh-years unsure what to do or say, until two sets of hurrying footsteps in the corridor outside signalled the arrival of Hermione and Madam Pomfrey. "Miss Granger said Mr. Malfoy collapsed?" inquired the mediwitch briskly.

Snape nodded and rose to his feet. "He's not looking good."

"Can you carry him to the hospital wing?" Madam Pomfrey requested.

Snape nodded and turned to the class. "Clear everything up. We shall do this potion again next lesson. You have the remainder of today's lesson free. To do some independent study, of course – and for those of you who _didn't_ read about this potion before this lesson, to read about it." He waited until Hermione, as Head Girl, took charge of the tidy-up, then lifted Draco into his arms. He was worryingly light, no doubt the result of his illness. A tightly-balled piece of parchment fell from his hand as Snape stood, and Pomfrey picked it up, opening it and showing it to the teacher.

__

Narcissa has disappeared? This is the first I have heard of it. No wonder Draco hasn't been himself. Snape was moving fast as he strode up to the hospital wing, Pomfrey close behind him. Upon arriving in the hospital wing, Draco was quickly changed into nightclothes and placed in a warm bed. He still hadn't come round, so Pomfrey ordered Snape up to the Owlery to contact Dr. Keller.

Madam Pomfrey watched over Draco anxiously, currently her only patient. He hadn't moved at all, and there was a deathly whiteness to his face that hadn't been there before. _Is the child dying?_ she wondered. She couldn't know that Draco was reliving some of the worst memories from his childhood…

__

The room was cold. He was only three years old, shut up in one of the storage rooms for being exactly two minutes and seventeen seconds late for lunch. No food; just half marched, half dragged by his father up the two flights of stairs. He was flung violently into the room. It was dark – only a tiny slit window in the top corner let in any form of illumination. The window had no glass in it, and there was a cold draught. The occasional stray snowflake drifted in, slowly melting on the cold stone floor. Draco was freezing, hungry, scared. Spiders and other creepy-crawlies – and possibly mice and rats – could be seen and heard scurrying about the room.

Eventually he grew so tired that he fell asleep on the cold floor, waking stiff and sore in the morning. The coldness had penetrated right to the bone. His father soon reappeared and hauled him roughly to his feet. "Let that be a lesson to you to be punctual_!" he hissed in his son's face…_

And then he was six. His mother's third-best china set was lying on the dining room floor in pieces around him. His hands and legs were scratched and bleeding from where the sharp pieces of china had cut him. His mother was standing by as his father repeatedly pummelled him into submission. Draco didn't cry – he knew he'd only get hurt more severely if he did. "You clumsy idiot!" his father yelled furiously. "What are you? Well?" And Draco was forced to repeat the words, being careful to not sound arrogant or defiant – doing that would only make things worse…

By the time he was eight he had learned to hide in his room. But even that wasn't safe, if it wasn't deemed tidy enough. Time and again he was locked in the storage room if things weren't perfect in Lucius Malfoy's eyes. Draco did his crying alone, late at night, when nobody would know…

And many more memories besides. For three days he endured this, drifting somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness, desperate to see Hannah but unable to convey this to anyone.

Finally, on the fourth morning, he woke properly and forced his eyes open, though he was burning hot and feverish. His head was fuzzy, preventing him from being able to think clearly. What was worse – the memories or the illness? At this point in time, he didn't know. Both seemed equally unbearable.

"Draco?" whispered Hannah, who was by his side. "Are you awake?"

He turned his head to face her, nodding slightly. "I am," he croaked.

Hannah's face lit up with unbridled joy. "Madam Pomfrey! He's awake!"

The next few minutes were a whirl of checks and medicines. Madam Pomfrey shook her head in resignation. "I _told_ you not to do too much," she scolded, though there was a slight twinkle in her eye as she said this. She helped him into a thick dressing-gown and helped him over to the fireplace, where he curled up in an armchair while she changed the bedclothes. His headache had returned in full force, along with the hot and cold flashes, the shivering and sweating, and the nausea. He was vaguely aware of Hannah's chatter on one side of him, although his mind was too unfocused to actually make sense of what she was saying. It didn't bother him; her mere presence was comforting to him.

"What's wrong? Draco?" She was distressed at the hot tears that were slowly slipping down his cheeks. Hesitantly she took a handkerchief (yellow, a badger embroidered neatly on it) from her robe pocket and tenderly wiped them away.

He hadn't even realised he was crying. "I – I just feel so awful…" he whispered, raising his head slightly and immediately wishing he hadn't as the throbbing intensified. "My head…"

"Madam Pomfrey can give you something for that," Hannah softly assured him. "Come on – she wants you back in bed." She helped him up and put a supportive arm around his thin waist. He was trembling from the effort and the fever, and leaned heavily against him. It was a slow process and took quite a bit of time, despite being only a short distance, and Draco was extremely relieved to collapse into bad, able to lay his aching head on the cool pillow. He was aware of Hannah sitting down beside him. "Shouldn't you be going to a lesson?" he croaked.

"It's Saturday," she informed him gently. "The only things happening today are Quidditch practices and, theoretically at any rate, homework. Oh, and Justin Finch-Fletchley trying to chat up just about every Hufflepuff girl from the third year upwards."

"He's an idiot," Draco muttered, feeling his temper suddenly flare. "He hasn't tried it on _you_, has he?" His outburst triggered a coughing fit and Hannah immediately helped him sit up and lean forwards, one hand firmly, comfortingly, on his shoulder. The coughing jarred his pounding head.

When it was over, he leaned, without knowing exactly why, into Hannah's embrace. Maybe it was her caring, comforting presence and the fact that she had loyally come to see him every day, even if it was just for a few minutes, when everyone else had seemingly abandoned him. Harry didn't count; he came fairly often, but he had a Quidditch team to train.

"No, Justin has _not_ 'tried it' on me," retorted Hannah as she helped him lie back down. "And anyway, why are _you_ so bothered about it?"

Draco had no answer for that. He closed his eyes and feigned sleep.

----------------------------------------------------

Owls generally seemed to operate along the same lines as British postmen – none on Sundays. Not this Sunday, however, for a pair of eagle owls, who deposited a large parcel in front of the Head Girl at breakfast.

"What's that?" inquired Harry, looking up from his notebook, in which he was scribbling possible moves for the next Quidditch match.

"Prob'ly a book," mumbled Ron through a mouthful of sausage.

Hermione glared at him. "You shouldn't talk with your mouth full, Ron. It's not polite. Actually, I asked your father for some information on something."

"Wha inf'mation?"

"Never you mind," Hermione shot back.

"Why not?"

"Because it's none of your business!" she snapped, unwrapping the parcel. "And to be honest, it's not technically for me."

"Then who –?"

She silenced him with a Look. "Like I said, none of your business." Having finished her own breakfast, she picked up the parcel and stalked out of the Great Hall.

Ron rolled his eyes. "_Some_ people."

Harry chose not to answer, his gaze lingering on Hermione's retreating back.

----------------------------------------------------

Swift, purposeful footsteps echoing along the corridor. Madam Pomfrey's stilted greeting. Hannah suddenly pretending she was in the hospital wing because of a sprained ankle.

He was here.

Towering over him like an immense pillar, Lucius Malfoy observed his son, a slight sneer on his aristocratic face. "Well, well, well; we _have_ been careless, haven't we?" he said scathingly.

Draco averted his gaze from the icy grey eyes boring into him. He felt sick and dizzy, and the adrenaline coursing through his blood right now was aggravating every aspect of his illness. He couldn't think properly; his head was still far too fuzzy.

"I heard you were ill," Lucius continued. "I was in the area and thought I would…pay a visit, shall we say."

Draco forced himself to concentrate. "Any – any news on Mother?" he whispered.

Lucius' face flickered momentarily – worry? – and he shook his head. "No news." He placed his hand on his son's shoulder and squeezed tightly. "And you will ask _no questions_. It is all under control. Understand?"

Draco gritted his teeth from the pain, but said nothing.

"I shall see you at Easter." With that, Lucius swept out of the room. Draco listened to him go, shaking from fear. He was dreading Easter.

----------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------

TBC

Author thanks:

Lucidity: You're getting the hang of this! There could well be more than meets the eye. I actually just put Trelawney in for continuity and for a bit of humour/light relief before things get even darker. That, and I'm just really bad at writing convincing prophecies!!

Samhaincat: Draco's feeling better – but not for long!

Wolfbrother: (stares at review in shock) I've actually got Draco-sympathy from _you_?! I _must_ be doing something right in that case! JK writes Draco very two-dimensionally in OotP, which annoys me. Do you really think that I'm going to tell you about if/when Ron finds out?? If I did, I'd stand a good chance of ruining part of the story! As for the romance issues, I advise you to go back and read chapter 3 (two big hints), chapter 6 (one hint), chapter 10 (one big hint) and now chapter 12 (one hint). The clues are there if you look closely, like I told you on Saturday!

AshleyPorter: You realise it's like the soaps on TV – hooks you and then reel you in so far that you can't not continue reading?!

Evanescent Dawn: yet again, you put me to shame with your fantastically long reviews! Can you send me the link via e-mail for the GoF pics? Please? With a cherry on top? I couldn't resist Poppy and Severus bickering over Quidditch! Poor Minerva – it's bad enough having to deal with students squabbling, never mind staff as well! Re. the Patronus thing – Lupin's thinking is that if the new Death Eater _does_ know how exceptional Harry is, chances are it will put him/her off and scare them a bit. Unnerve them, if you will. Dumbledore may or may not know who the Death Eater is; no comment. Not commenting on the Ron/Parvati implications. Any comments regarding that will bring you into direct conflict with wolfbrother. Hermione was talking to Ginny during that spat over Trelawney (I didn't say so in the story, but she wasn't within earshot of the boys' conversation). Glad my twists are unexpected and had you gripping your seat – plot twists have always been a weakness of mine. I struggle to do them well. Regarding the geography, I'm assuming Hogwarts is somewhere in north Scotland. Carlisle is 10 miles south of the Scottish border and is currently drying out after being completely cut off due to flooding.

Rebell: Someone on my wavelength regarding Draco! On the Voldie issue, trouble is never far away where he's concerned!

Dark Lady Arantraneth: (have I spelled that correctly?) If Poppy lets me, I'll pass on the message.

CloudofDreams: You're going to have to wait and see about Voldie and the student Death Eater! I know Lupin wouldn't normally boast about Harry, but he's aware of the Death-Eater-in-school situation. See my comments to Evanescent Dawn on this issue. I think it'll be interesting to see who JK pairs up. Ron and Hermione is so obvious it's painful. I can't believe there are people out there who haven't twigged yet! I've heard rumours of Harry/Susan Bones, but I'm not sure how true that is. Roll on July 16th! I imagine, though, that there'll be Draco/Pansy. Poor Draco.

Ruperts-a-honey: I've only ever written one slash fic, although I don't know if I'll ever post it. I don't tend to write it. You can guess all you like about Lucius (and Voldemort) being involved in Draco's illness, but remember he did go out in the snow without hat, gloves, scarf or winter cloak!! Romance-wise, read some of my other fics and you just may get an idea of where I'm going with the pairing you suggested. People aren't pressuring me for answers; I think they're just desperate to know what happens!! (cackles evilly). I am, however, interested to see what they're thinking about the way the storylines are going, just to see if I'm doing plot twists and clue-dropping well or not!!

Riob: don't worry about me complaining about the time continuity issue; I'd rather people picked up on it and told me if I was making a mistake, so I can then correct it. Much appreciated!! And would I honestly shoot you for having not read the books for a while? I haven't done so! Too much to learn for placement, and now essays. You're right about the Draco/Poppy friendship. The ma'am thing is just banter, but Poppy does sometimes strike me as someone with the "ma'am" aura! And of course, the make-up application would _never_ be a reference to some people at WCHS, now, would it?!


	13. A Huge Row

Reaching Maturity

Disclaimer: see previous

****

A/N: I don't portray Justin Finch-Fletchley in a positive light because I wasn't keen on the way he said he would have gone to _Eton _if he hadn't got his Hogwarts letter. The first time I read Chamber of Secrets he just struck me as this snobby rich boy (apologies to those that like him!) I went to the local county primary on an council estate, which did me no harm, and then to a state grammar school, which also did me no harm (it was the people that did).

****

A/N 2: HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGE apologies for the delay in the posting of this, but I have a 3,500-word essay on mental health policy in Britain since 1998 that's due in on Monday 31st, so funnily enough that's been top of my priorities. Plus I've been ill, which has delayed me doing work.

****

A/N 3: "When you assume, you make an _ass_ of _u_ and _me_." (The late Robert 'Rocket' Romano, in conversation with Elizabeth Corday, in an episode of ER from about season 6 or 7; I _love_ this quote!!)

----------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------

Chapter 13: A Huge Row

Within the space of four days, Hermione had read the whole of the huge, leather-bound book that had been in her parcel and had scribbled down anything she thought to be of particular significance, all for Harry (although naturally she did nothing until she had finished her homework). "Interesting lives these French artists lead, don't you think?" she said meaningfully to Harry in the corridor on the way back to their common room from the library, handing him the book and notes.

Harry took them from her and scanned the notes. "Mmmm, they certainly do," he agreed thoughtfully. Oh, this was certainly interesting.

"What I still can't work out is why you're so hell-bent on helping _Malfoy_ of all people."

"He's changed a lot this year – and don't tell me you haven't noticed; you're the most observant person in the entire school. You get the _Prophet_; you know they ran that story the other day saying that Narcissa Malfoy's vanished without a trace. That's bound to upset anyone."

"Except Lucius Malfoy."

"Except Lucius Malfoy," Harry agreed. "Sirius reckons that's because he knows something – or, more likely, is involved in it somehow – even though the _Prophet_'s claiming he's 'putting on a brave face' or something along those lines."

"But _why_?" Hermione wondered aloud.

Harry was silent. She didn't know all the details, and from what he knew from what Draco had said, he could only speculate. "I'm sorry, Herm, but Malfoy's sworn me to secrecy."

"Over what? And why are you suddenly so bothered about not breaking _his_ trust?" she demanded, pausing to give the password to the Fat Lady. "Harry, he's a Malfoy. They're _scum_, the whole family."

"Lucius Malfoy is, you mean. And perhaps Narcissa."

"Oh, so you at least _partly_ recognise that!"

Harry whirled round to face her as she emerged into the common room from the portrait hole. "If you knew what _I_ knew," he hissed angrily, "maybe you wouldn't be _quite _so harsh on Draco!"

Hermione snorted derisively. "You mean he's had a hard life or something? All that money, all that luxury…_Poor_ Malfoy. What, does Daddy hit him or something? Come off it, Harry. He's a spoiled, nasty, malicious rich brat, nothing else. I've had to bear the brunt of his horrible personality for six years."

Harry had gone rigid, as though he had seen a Basilisk through Nearly Headless Nick.

"Harry?" said Hermione uncertainly.

"Don't mock things you don't understand," Harry snapped.

Hermione stared at him in horror, comprehension slowly dawning. "He does, doesn't he? Lucius Malfoy hits his son." She sank down into the nearest chair. "God, no wonder he acts the way he does."

They remained like that for several minutes, as though frozen in a Muggle photograph. Eventually Harry moved. "You realise that no-one else can know about this, don't you?"

"But surely Dumbledore –"

"Doesn't seem to want to get involved. And Snape probably suspects – but if _he _tries to do anything, it'll jeopardise his position in Voldemort's circle. And the Order needs all the information it can get from him."

Hermione nodded slowly. "Yes, you're right." She mentally shook herself. "But I still don't see where Marie-Jeanne Lenoir comes into things. The book is her old diary from when she was at school – for some reason the Ministry had it. What _exactly_ are you hoping to find out?"

"I don't _know_!" Harry cried in frustration. "Maybe anything that has something to do with her old penpal's disappearance, something about her…_You're_ the one that read it!"

"_I_ didn't know what I was looking for," Hermione shot back, standing up. "Sorry, Harry. You're on your own with this."

Harry wearily sat down in the chair Hermione had vacated and opened the diary.

----------------------------------------------------

January slipped almost imperceptibly into February. After the visit of Lucius Malfoy, Harry and Hannah were the only two allowed to see Draco, as Pomfrey had become far more vigilant. One evening in early February, Hannah was on her way to see Draco as usual when Hufflepuff seventh-year rich boy Justin Finch-Fletchley stopped her in the corridor. "So, hurrying off to meet someone, are we?" he inquired smoothly in his posh, public-school accent. "Secret boyfriend, perhaps?"

Hannah attempted to get past him, but he blocked her path. She glared at him. "What's is to you if I am?" she asked coldly. "And if you don't move, I'll take ten points from Hufflepuff. I'm a prefect; I can do that."

Justin raised his eyebrows and put his hands in his pockets in a cocky manner. "Well, I was simply wondering who could possibly be better-looking than yours truly."

Hannah snorted scornfully. "Plenty of people. I'm sure if you looked hard enough, you'd agree with me. Or have you charmed your mirror so that it strokes further your already-huge ego every time you talk to it?"

Justin went slightly pink, though whether from embarrassment or anger Hannah couldn't tell. "So who is it?" he persisted.

Hannah reached for her wand and pointed it firmly at Justin. "I'd move if I were you."

Justin took a step back, nervously eyeing her wand. "You should watch where you point that thing."

It had had the desired effect, though, and he moved, allowing Hannah to pass. "Idiot," she muttered under her breath. That was probably the closest she had ever come to losing her temper – Hannah was a sweet, mild-tempered, sunny girl, and possibly the most easygoing student in her House, if not in the entire school. But she couldn't stand Justin and his swaggering, look-at-me-I'm-filthy-rich-and-don't-I-know-it attitude, which had only become apparent in their fifth year but had grown steadily worse since.

Draco was absorbed in making some notes from his Transfiguration textbook when Hannah arrived. He looked up when she sat down in the chair beside his bed. "Hey," he greeted her, fighting to keep the exhaustion from his voice. He lay his quill down on the wheeled overbed table that he was using as a makeshift desk.

"I do hope you haven't been working _all_ day," Hannah commented.

Draco snorted. "As if Pomfrey would let me. You know what she's like." He rested his head in one hand. "It's taken me the best part of today to do two pages of notes from the book for McGonagall. At this rate I won't be taking my NEWTs at all this year."

"Is it that bad?" asked Hannah, distinct concern in her voice.

He nodded. "I heard Pomfrey telling Snape so the other day after Peeves caused mayhem in a fourth-year lesson and injured Snape."

"What did Snape do to Peeves?" Hannah asked, giggling. "Oh, I shouldn't laugh, but Peeves really does have it in for Snape this year."

Draco nodded. "I think he thought last May's cauldron incident was such fun that he'd do even more things just to annoy Snape even more. Anyway, as for Peeves, one of the Ravenclaws Summoned the Bloody Baron and Peeves promptly disappeared. Snape gave Ravenclaw twenty points. I heard him telling Pomfrey what happened." He grinned briefly before the exertion of the long speech caught up with him and he doubled over coughing violently.

This, of course, brought Madam Pomfrey hurrying over, glass of water and potion in her hands. "What have I told you – _countless_ times – about talking too much?" she tutted impatiently, shaking her head. "It wouldn't kill you to obey me for _once_ in your life! It's in your best interests. Not _everyone's_ out to get you, even though you seem to think they are." She handed him the potion, which he downed (scowling) and then the water, before hurrying off again.

"What did she mean by that?" asked Hannah. She placed one hand on his shoulder – the same one his father had squeezed so tightly a week previously, the bruise still being faintly visible – and he pulled away. "Don't," he mumbled, drawing his knees protectively up to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly round them.

"'Don't' what?" Hannah demanded. "Is there something wrong with me all of a sudden?"

Draco could hardly bear the hurt in her eyes as she said this. She had jumped to her feet, unshed tears glistening in the corners of her eyes.

"Don't – just – just don't touch me! Please," he begged, looking up at her.

"Why?"

He shook his head determinedly. "I – I can't talk about it. Just accept that. _Please_, Hannah!"

"Are we friends or not?"

"Ye-es…" he replied, unsure as to what she was driving at.

"Then you _tell me_." She was shocked at how forceful she sounded.

He shook his head again, just as fervently, gritting his teeth as his head began throbbing again. "I _can't_, Hannah!" He bit his lip hard, but it didn't stop the tears from welling up in his eyes. Frantically, he attempted to blink them away, but his efforts were futile. They spilled over, onto his cheeks, falling rapidly. Hannah had frozen for a moment, but she was quick to respond to the situation, and ignored his earlier plea to her to not touch him, putting her arms around him. She let him cry into her shoulder, gently soothing and rocking him until eventually he pulled away, hiccuping slightly. "Th-thanks," he whispered, not able to bear looking at her.

She offered him the yellow handkerchief embroidered with a badger, and he gratefully accepted it.

"It's not good, is it?" she pressed cautiously.

He reluctantly shook his head.

"And you've been sworn to secrecy?"

He slowly nodded. "Sort of."

"It's been going on for a long time?"

"You know, for a Hufflepuff, you're incredibly nosy. That's a trait normally associated with

Gryffindors," he remarked lightly, before growing serious once again, dropping his head, unable to bear looking at her. "F-for as long as I can remember. And – and probably before then. I don't really remember much before I was about six. They say your memory improves as your vocabulary increases. Not that I _want_ to remember particularly." He shuddered involuntarily. "It's like I've blocked out a lot of it because it's so bad. But then, if I blocked _all_ the bad things out, I don't think I'd have much of a memory at all." His voice caught in his throat.

Hannah was silent for a moment, deep in thought. "Your father's involved in this, isn't he?"

"Oh yes. He's involved all right." Draco laughed; a bitter, coarse laugh.

"He abuses you, doesn't he?" Hannah said suddenly. "That's why you don't like people touching you, isn't it? Why you're so nasty to people, and a bully? Isn't it?" She suspected that nobody had used the word 'abuse' before with Draco, and knew also that he would never have admitted that that was what went on behind the heavy elegant doors of the Manor.

"Like father, like son," replied Draco resentfully, bitterly. "It's true, you know. We look alike. He's a bully, I'm a bully. He hates Mudbloods, I've been taught to do the same. He's manipulative, so am I. He worships You-Know-Who, and I'm expected to as well. He's violent, I can be when provoked enough. He lies when he can benefit from it, and so do I. He's evil and so am I."

"You really think that?" Hannah cut in angrily. "That you're evil?"

"I don't _think_ that; I _know_ that!" he shot back. "I'm evil. I'm pathetic and useless and a disgrace. You're wasting your time with me, Hannah! I am who I am, and it's too late to change now. Get out!"

"Draco –"

"GET OUT!" he screamed, getting out of bed and facing her.

"But –"

"Just GO!"

Something in her normally calm demeanour snapped. "_Fine_, then!" she hissed. "_Be_ like that! Your father's right – you _are _pathetic!" She snatched up her schoolbag and ran out of the hospital wing, not knowing where she was going as she tore through the school, until she found herself outside. The sudden exposure to the cold air brought her to an abrupt halt and she kicked a low wall nearby in sheer frustration.

"Miss Abbott? I don't think Mr. Filch will be too happy if you demolish that wall."

Hannah jumped, startled, as she heard McGonagall's voice behind her. "P-P-Professor," she stammered, teeth chattering.

"Now, what brought this on? You've never struck me as a violent person before." There was a hint of amusement in the teacher's voice as she said this to the girl she saw as probably the most gentle, caring, sweet-tempered person in the whole school. "Do sit." She conjured up two steaming mugs of hot sweet tea for them both.

Hannah obligingly did so and accepted the tea. "It's one of my friends."

"Oh? Friends can be incredibly frustrating, can't they?"

Hannah sighed, nodding. "Tell me about it. He's convinced he's 'pathetic and useless' (I quote) amongst other things, and that he's evil and that it's too late to change and that he's exactly like his father," Hannah told her, the words coming out in a rush. She smiled ruefully. "Then he kicked me out."

McGonagall nodded understandingly, taking a sip from her mug. "I take it we're talking about Mr. Malfoy?"

"How do you –?"

"Who else would be made to feel that worthless by their own father?"

Hannah smiled wryly. "I suppose you have a point."

"Would I be correct in assuming that you attempted to inquire about his home life?"

"That his father uses him as a punchbag? That he abuses him really badly, physically _and_ emotionally? That he undermines his confidence so badly that he feels completely worthless?"

"So you did."

"He never _actually_ admitted it in as many words, but he as good as did." She paused as a thought entered her mind. "You already knew." It was not a question.

"I'm afraid so. When he returned after the Christmas holidays and I met everyone in the Entrance Hall, I saw that he was ill and took him to Poppy. When she and I assisted him in changing into nightclothes, that was when we saw the injuries. Clearly non-accidental. It's something you don't expect to see, although I had occasionally wondered about the state of his home life in the past. I know what his father's like."

"Should – should I go back and talk to him?" asked Hannah hesitantly.

"Give it a few days. It should give him time to calm down," McGonagall advised.

"Does anyone know about the abuse besides you and Madam Pomfrey?"

"Professors Snape and Dumbledore, along with, I understand, Mr. Potter and his godfather." The head of Gryffindor rose and turned to Hannah. "Come inside or you'll make yourself ill, Miss Abbott. And I doubt Poppy will be too sympathetic."

Hannah dutifully picked up her schoolbag (which generally went everywhere with her, carrying all sorts of oddments and adorned with a mass of badges and small soft toys for keyrings, attached to the zips). She was headed straight for bed. She needed to think things through carefully before she decided on what to do next, and she did _not _want to be interrupted.

----------------------------------------------------

How could he have been so _stupid_? He'd screamed at probably his only friend, and now he'd lost her. _Smart move, Malfoy_, he berated himself. _You're _definitely_ your father's son._ And now he had Madam Pomfrey to contend with. _Not good. _Really_ not good._

"Just _what_ has been going on here?" demanded Pomfrey sharply. "Back into bed. _Now_."

He didn't dare disobey. Anyone who disobeyed Pomfrey when she was 'having a hissy fit' (the words of one Blaise Zabini) would soon wish they hadn't done so.

She handed him something dark green and foul-smelling. "Drink. It'll calm you down. You're shaking." He took it and she sat down beside him. "Well? I heard shouting. Angry shouting. Care to enlighten me?"

He shrugged. "It doesn't matter." He coughed feebly, his outburst beginning to hit him hard.

"She'll be back," Pomfrey assured him, giving his shoulders a gentle squeeze.

"No she won't," muttered Draco dully. He lay down and rolled over, his back to Pomfrey, and buried his face in his pillow. He'd blown it completely. Hannah would never come back.

----------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------

****

TBC

****

author thanks:

CloudofDreams: I'd only posted chapter 12 about 10 minutes before I got your review!! I am saying nothing on the issue of Draco's illness; you'll just have to wait and see. Do tell about your suspicions on the origins of Narcissa's letter! I'm intrigued. The student Death Eater could be anyone from fifth year upwards; things like Harry producing a true Patronus soon get around the school, so even if the Death Eater isn't a seventh-year, they'll soon hear. If Lupin mentioned it in another lesson it would look suspicious, whereas casually dropping it into the lesson on Patronuses just seems natural and wouldn't raise the alertness in any of the other students.

I've heard rumours about Harry and Luna, but I'm not sure what I think about that pairing. I'm saying nothing about Hermione's parcel, because by the end of chapter 13 you'll know what it is anyway. Narcissa does care for Draco in her own way, but she is also a Black. Self-preservation is high on her list of priorities – if she intervened with what Lucius was doing to Draco, he could easily turn on her (and she knows it). I know it's dark, but it's set in very dark times – I anticipate that HBP will be significantly darker than OotP. Also, I wrote this when I was going through a really horrendous time. I love Poppy; she's a great character. Snape's one of my favourite characters; he's incredibly complex and intriguing. If you like Severus-fics, go and read _Atana_'s work!!! I haven't seen Sense and Sensibility; I am _not_ an Austen fan. I'm much more a Brontë fan.

Lucidity: interesting description of Draco as a "hero"! But then, he is really if you're going on Lit lingo! Snape would have been watching him closer, but he doesn't dare risk taking his eyes off people like Crabbe and Goyle – would you?! Draco's more than competent at Potions (normally, at any rate). And Snape does care about him, even if he isn't very good at showing it. You'll find out what Hermione's parcel is in chapter 13. I wouldn't describe Hannah as naïve; it's more a case of she's very nice and 100 Hufflepuff. She knows what Draco's like but she can see past the horrible parts and see why he is the way he is. She's just a really kind, really forgiving person who has a firm belief in giving people second chances.

Riob: YOU are swearing?! Did I read that correctly?! ;) I didn't realise I had that much of an effect on you! Looks like I'm doing a really good job!! Is the original version coming back to you at all or do you still remember next-to-nothing? Lucius can be that uncaring simply because he is Lucius Malfoy. I'm glad you've got questions; it means I'm keeping you in suspense and hooked on my story!!! (insert evil cackle here) Thank you loads for the Latin info!!! Oh, speaking of which, don't suppose you could tell me what the Latin for table is, could you?

Ruperts-a-honey: but we love Draco really, so we make him suffer! It gets him sympathy! (And you know how much he loves attention, so he'll milk it for all it's worth!) No worries about the questions; it tells me that I'm doing a good job of keeping you all in suspense and not revealing everything immediately.

Dark Lady Arantraneth: You may have to try a bit harder to get Lucius to be nice; I'm fairly sure he's blasted the word out of his dictionary, a bit like Mrs. Black did with some members of her family!

Ladeportista4: Yay!! A new reviewer!!

The Lady Quotes: You're just going to have to put up with Draco being ill, I'm afraid! You don't seriously think he's going to go out in sub-zero temperatures and not suffer the aftereffects, now, do you?!

Heartsyhawk: yay! ANOTHER new reviewer! You would be right about Draco's situation.

Samhaincat: I've not had problems logging in, although it won't always display the page. I hate it when that happens!! You have my sympathy. Glad you're liking the angsty stuff. There's plenty more of it to come!

Rebell: I wanted to show Draco's past because then it would give people a much better insight into why is the way he is and why he's so scared of his father. This point seemed as good a place as any in which to insert it. It makes him much more of a real person.

Evanescent Dawn: where do I start in replying to your review?!?!?! First of all, keep the Draco-sympathy coming!! He's really had a rough ride, and I happen to be of the opinion that he's more complex than JK tends to write him. He didn't alert Dumbledore because remember that he's a Slytherin and his father has drilled it into him that Dumbledore is a crackpot. Those kind of automatic thoughts and feelings are hard to change. And I'm not saying anything about the person/people who has/have Narcissa. I'm glad you're liking Hannah; she's a sweet girl. I'm just about the only person on that I know of that writes Hannah/Draco. It's not exactly the sort of pairing most people would even consider. She cares for him too much now to pull away.

I read slash. I generally don't write it (despite having a less-than-conventional sexual orientation myself). There are NO slash suggestions in this fic; assume most of the characters are straight. Regarding Draco's childhood, yes, it is horrible, and I thank God every day that I never went through anything like that. I've always been convinced that his home life is less than wonderful, whatever he might say to other people. Justin annoys me no end – as I think is explained at the top. With the Harry/Ron/Hermione scene, I hope all becomes clear by the end of chapter 13! I'm intrigued by your mention of a conspiracy; care to enlighten me??? Pretty please?

AshleyPorter: I'm not familiar with Gilmore Girls. Am I to assume that it's a TV programme?

TinorialPeredhil: Snape likes the "final and doom-filled" moments, as you put it; it adds to dramatic effect. Apologies accepted!! Perfectly understandable. And kick Lucius down the stairs! He deserves no less! And romantically, you know me too well!!


	14. Further Developments

Reaching Maturity

**Disclaimer:** still not mine. All I own are the 5 books, the first 2 movies (video and CoS and PoA on DVD), a couple of other HP books and JKR's biography.

My physical trauma exam is DONE! Yay for me! I won't find out how I've done for a while yet, but I'm fairly sure I've passed. Heart attack and chronic pain no problems, rheumatoid arthritis could have been better and upper limb nerve trauma wasn't exactly wonderful. And only one more essay to go!

**A/N:** I originally intended to post this on Friday but kept messing up the formatting. So I didn't. Hmph.

-

-

Chapter 14: Further Developments

_So, Wormtail's craftier than I ever gave him credit for, _Harry mused (at the same time Hannah and Draco had been arguing). Using Marie-Jeanne – or Marie, as he and Hermione had come to refer to her as, as it was shorter – was a surefire way to gain quick advances in positions in Voldemort's circle._ Being a total rat certainly helps._ He grimaced at the unintended pun.

The diary certainly made interesting reading, with Marie-Jeanne's perspectives on other people Harry knew of. Petronella Avery, for one, and Bellatrix Lestrange. The diary spoke of Avery (then Nott, presumably the aunt of Theodore Nott in Slytherin) being engaged to the Avery Harry had come across in the graveyard in his fourth year. Bellatrix was on the run from the Ministry still, after her escape from Azkaban in Harry's fifth year. Petronella was now dead, her husband in hiding.

"_Well?_" demanded Hermione, abruptly dropping down beside him. "Anything interesting?"

"She's not happy with Wormtail using her to get right in with Voldemort – and we know how in with him _she _was," answered Harry, lifting his head from said diary to look at Hermione. As it was evening, she was in Muggle clothing – red flared jeans, black ankle boots and a pale blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. The Head Girl badge was, naturally, pinned to her shirt. Her hair was pulled back in a half-ponytail and she had allowed Parvati to apply a small amount of make-up to her face. Harry thought she looked very pretty.

"I'm only surprised she didn't attempt to seduce Voldemort," remarked Hermione. "She seems to have no qualms about doing it with all the _other_ men – including the married ones. In fact, it would seem as though it was _particularly _the married ones."

Harry smirked. "You're right there. I just wish she didn't go into _quite_ that much detail. I mean, I _really_ don't want to read about…well, you know."

Hermione nodded fervently, wrinkling her nose. "It is somewhat unnecessary. Anyway." She reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out a neatly-folded piece of parchment, handing it to Harry. "Hedwig couldn't find you so she came to me instead."

Harry took it from her, brushing her fingers slightly, and read it. "Sirius has gone to Strasbourg to look for Marie," he summarised. "As Padfoot – or Snuffles – obviously."

"So you think she's involved in Narcissa's disappearance as well?"

"I do." Harry got to his feet. "I need to talk to Malfoy."

But when he got to the hospital wing, he was firmly turned away by Madam Pomfrey. "Mr. Malfoy is not having visitors at this hour, Mr. Potter. He's resting."

"But this is _important!_" wheedled Harry. "And it's not _that_ late; it's not even past curfew!"

"I'm sure it can wait until tomorrow." She placed her hands firmly on his shoulders and propelled him out of the hospital wing and down the corridor. Defeated, Harry slunk off.

-

Hannah waited a few days, like McGonagall had suggested, before she went to see Draco again. She was relieved when Transfiguration ended, and she sped from the classroom to the hospital wing. Justin attempted to stop her, but she simply pointed her wand at him. "Remember this, rich-boy?" she inquired pleasantly. He backed off and let her pass, eyeing her warily.

"I knew you'd come back," said Pomfrey, by way of greeting.

"How is he?" asked Hannah anxiously, remembering her angry words to Draco.

Pomfrey shook her head gravely. "I don't know, Hannah. He seems very down and withdrawn. He won't talk and he's spent a lot of time crying. He's been having some fairly bad nightmares as well. Won't take anything to stop them, mind. He can be extremely stubborn when he's made up his mind to be."

Hannah nodded wryly, then followed Pomfrey through. The mediwitch gently woke Draco, shaking him lightly on the shoulder. "Someone here to see you, Draco," she told him, before leaving them to it.

Hannah was alarmed at the changes in him from just a few days' absence. His naturally pale face was deathly white and his grey eyes were dull, their usual sparkle absent. There were black circles under his eyes, which contrasted painfully sharply with his pale face, and his cheeks were tearstained. Hannah stood there awkwardly. He hadn't registered her presence yet. "Draco?"

He glanced briefly at her. "What do you want?" he asked listlessly.

She sat down on the chair beside his bed. "To say that I'm sorry," she replied. "I should never have shouted at you the way I did, and I shouldn't have said that you were pathetic. But Draco, you're not just your father's shadow, or his clone. You're your own person and you've got your own mind. Just because _he's_ evil, it doesn't necessarily mean that _you _are. Because you're _not_."

"Why should I believe you?" That hollow, dead voice again. It sent shivers down Hannah's spine. She was determined, however, to not let this put her off.

"You should believe me because I've got a much better perspective from here than you have. And you're ill, and illness always affects a person's judgement."

He shrugged. "Save the lecture for someone that actually cares, Abbott." Despite his weariness, there was a clear note of anger in his voice.

"So you're giving up on yourself?" she demanded sharply. Then she softened her voice and took his limp hand in hers. "There's no reason for you to do so. I'm not going anywhere. Understand?"

For the first time in a long while, there was the faintest hint of a spark in his otherwise lifeless grey eyes. He gave her the briefest of nods. "Yeah."

They sat in silence for a long time, neither needing to say anything.

-

"Ravenclaw absolutely _have_ to win this game, don't they?" asked Theresa from her position on the bench in the Gryffindor changing rooms.

"They do. Hermione's done the maths. Slytherin are two hundred points behind us and Ravenclaw are two hundred and seventy behind," Harry confirmed. "Hufflepuff are completely out of it now; they've played all of their matches now and only got two hundred points from all three matches."

"Poor Hufflepuff," said Theresa sympathetically. She had a cousin in Hufflepuff.

"Slytherin's new Seeker isn't anywhere near as good as Malfoy," added Ginny. "_And _he's on a ridiculously old broom. I mean, a Cleansweep Seven next to your Firebolt!"

"But we don't want Ravenclaw to win by _too_ much," put in Ron, "else they'll beat us to the Cup."

"Oh, but it could be interesting, for the final match when _we_ play them," said Dai, grinning enthusiastically.

"And Harry's the best Seeker in the school," Seamus pointed out, swinging his legs back and forth, and kicking the box of old Beater bats on which he was sitting.

"All right! Let's just get out there and practise!" Harry ordered. "I know we don't play until next term, but this term's short and we've _got_ to stay on top form – which we _can't_ do if we're too busy speculating on the Ravenclaw-Slytherin match! Outside!"

It turned out to be a good practice, and they traipsed back to Gryffindor Tower two hours later, hot, sweaty and covered in mud. They'd had a friendly game against Hufflepuff, with a bewitched golf ball instead of the Snitch, when the other House's team had come out for a practice. Although the Hufflepuff Seeker had caught the substitute Snitch, the loss hadn't bothered Harry; getting the others to improve on their teamwork (something that they already did extremely well) was far more important.

Both House teams had rotated positions – good all-round knowledge of every position, and not just their own, in Harry and Ron's opinions, meant a better team and a greater understanding of the game. Ron had read something about it in a Quidditch magazine early in their sixth year. McGonagall had complimented them at the end of the practice – she had been in charge of observing, as the no-practice-without-supervision rule was still in strict enforcement.

Hermione greeted Harry with a hug as he entered the common room, although she was quick to withdraw, as he was still very sweaty. "Lupin wants to see us in his office. _Now,_" she added agitatedly, hopping from one foot to the other.

"Why? And can I at least have a shower?"

"_No_! Look, Sirius is here with some news!" she hissed, grabbing his hand and yanking him out of the portrait hole.

The Fat Lady glared at them – or, more specifically, at Harry. "What was the point of going _in_ if you're going to come _out _again immediately?" she grumbled. But she was ignored by the two as they hurried along the corridors, Hermione tugging Harry along, to Lupin's office.

The werewolf greeted them with a smile as he looked up from the fourth-year tests he was marking at his desk, and gestured to a sofa. "Do sit down." He used his foot to gently nudge awake the shaggy black dog that was curled up by his blazing fire. The dog obligingly turned into Sirius, who sat cross-legged on the floor. "I was enjoying a nice nap there, Moony."

"Tough."

"So what's going on?" asked Harry impatiently.

"Marie-Jeanne Lenoir is no longer at her home in Strasbourg," Sirius informed them shortly. "I was able to…ask around, shall we say, although my French has never been anywhere near as good as Moony's. It transpires that Marie-Jeanne has been making her way to Wiltshire."

"This just gets better and better," remarked Lupin grimly from his desk, where he as marking essays. He groaned. "These blasted fourth-years! Anyone would think they didn't know what a library was _for_, never mind where it is! 'The Leatherfold, which was originally invented in Wales…' _Honestly_! Sometimes I wonder why I bother."

"What's in Wiltshire?" interrupted Harry, confused.

"The Malfoys' home," Sirius explained. "Hermione, you've got relatives down in the southwest, haven't you?"

"Well, yes, there's my great-aunt Louisa, but I don't see what she's got to do with anything."

"Owl her," Lupin told her. "See if anything unusual's been happening in the last five months or so. She does know you're a witch, doesn't she?"

Hermione nodded. "She'd apparently suspected it since I was four – she's actually a witch as well."

"How did you get from here to Strasbourg and back so quickly?" Harry asked of Sirius.

"Apparated. I've still got my licence."

"Oh. Of course."

"Now, anything more on this supposed Death Eater in the student body?"

Harry shook his head. "I haven't found out anything, and I can't ask Malfoy at the moment because Pomfrey won't let me in to see him."

"I'm not surprised," said Lupin. "I popped in briefly yesterday and he looked absolutely terrible. We're going to have to find something out about his mother, and soon."

Sirius' mouth twisted into an ironic smile. "Never thought I'd see the day when I'd be helping a Malfoy."

"You think _we_ did?" retorted Harry.

"Can we get back to business?" demanded Hermione impatiently.

Lupin nodded and removed a scrap of crumpled parchment from one of his desk drawers, handing it to Hermione, who was between Harry and Sirius. "Severus found this in Draco's hand when he collapsed in your Potions lesson."

"Exactly how many people know for sure about Narcissa Malfoy's disappearance?" asked Hermione.

"All of the staff, plus Sirius, you two and I think Hannah Abbott."

"Hannah? Since when did she get involved?" asked Harry.

"They've been greenhouse partners in Herbology this year," Hermione informed him impatiently. "They've struck up a good friendship. _You _were the one who originally passed on the message that he wanted to see her. Honestly, Harry, do you notice _anything?_"

Harry glared at her.

"There have been rumours in the _Prophet,_" said Lupin. "Nothing concrete, of course – they've got far more important things to focus on, and Lucius refuses to confirm _or_ deny anything."

"What a surprise," muttered Sirius sarcastically.

"There was something else, Sirius," added Lupin, looking pointedly at his friend.

"Ah yes. Thanks for reminding me. _Pettigrew_. Staying at the Malfoys'," growled the Animagus.

"_WHAT!_" cried Hermione.

"You heard."

"That settles it. We need an action plan," declared Harry.

"And may I inquire as to how exactly you intend to do anything at all while we're in school, without arousing _any_ suspicion _whatsoever?_" demanded Hermione.

Harry was stumped.

"We can't do anything yet," Lupin told them. "We don't know enough. And personally, I don't want to take the risk of being blasted into the middle of next week by Lucius Malfoy. That's providing his son doesn't do it to him first, of course, but _he's_ not in any fit state to be doing much of anything at the moment." He turned to Sirius. "Padfoot, I think you're going to have to do some more investigative work before we can progress from our end. See if you can find out anything more about Narcissa. I'll be reporting to Dumbledore."

"I'll go now," said Sirius. "Owl me if necessary, but _don't_ use Hedwig." He transformed into Padfoot and slipped out of Lupin's office.

When he had left, Lupin turned to Harry and Hermione. "We're going to have to be extremely careful, although I'm sure I don't have to remind you. Harry, I need you to talk to Draco if Poppy will let you – get some information out of him. And tell him we're working on finding his mother, although I don't advise you to get his hopes up. If nothing else, Poppy will kill you.

"Hermione, I want you to find out as much as you possibly can from your aunt. Arthur Weasley and Tonks are using their connections in the Ministry. Kingsley too. And Severus is working on finding out who this alleged student Death Eater is; it's looking more and more likely that it's a Slytherin, so Severus is the best-placed person to find out that sort of information.

"Now, I'm sure you've both got homework to do, so I won't keep you."

Harry ignored the comment about homework (for once he had none) and, shower long forgotten, made his way up to the hospital wing, passing Hannah on the way. She caught his arm. "Don't bother going up to see Draco. He's asleep," she said.

"Oh. OK." So he made his way back to the Gryffindor common room and found McGonagall glaring at the Fat Lady. "…don't _care_! Change it back now! I need to get in!"

"Problem, Professor?" asked Harry as he approached her.

"_Yes_. We've had an apparent sighting of You-Know – of _Voldemort_ – on the outskirts of Inverness," she informed him grimly. "_Far_ too close for comfort. We – the staff – need everyone in the Great Hall for the next few nights as a security measure. _Unfortunately,_" she continued, glaring at the Fat Lady, who was absorbed in examining her reflection in a pocket mirror"_someone_ has changed the password in the last half-an-hour."

"Veritaserum," said Harry to the Fat Lady.

"I tried that already," said McGonagall. "She's changed it to that Welsh town with seventeen syllables that not even Dai Evans can pronounce, and we can't get in unless we say it perfectly. The fact that this is a _dire emergency_ has apparently gone completely over her head. Perhaps she'll listen to the Headmaster." She spun around on her heel and marched swiftly down the corridor, leaving Harry to glare at the Fat Lady.

-

-

**TBC**

**Author thanks:**

Heartsyhawk: This is how I see Draco as well. JK tends to write him as a fairly 2D character, but seeing as the books are from Harry's perspective (so much so that I doubt many people would notice if she used first person instead of third person), so I suppose it's to be expected. (blushes at compliments) Thank you loads; characterisation is one of the most important elements in a story. This is the first fic where I began writing Draco/Hannah; it just kind of sneaked up on me and then next thing I know they're together! I've been an incurable Draco/Hannah shipper for nearly 3 years now!

Lucidity: my bag's a bit like Hannah's and it seems like the kind of bag she'd have. The things on it reflect aspects of her personality (although I don't think she realises this; it's more a subconscious thing). I agree with you about how important such little touches are. Draco still has aspects of his old nature and they may never go. These things take time. He's scared and hurt and ill, and Hannah just happened to be the one to bear the brunt of it all – it could have been anyone, really.

Dark-Rune1: (blushes as red as a Weasley's hair) I feel incredibly honoured that you've reviewed, then! Extra thankies are in order, and I'll even give you some of my biscuits (I'm eating far too much junk food at the moment, due to essays and so on). I'm a Draco fan as well (obviously) and I am of the opinion that he's a far more complex character than he appears to be in the books. I made you cry? Have some tissues. I didn't realise it would have much of an effect on a reader! I'm so glad that I've portrayed Draco accurately; having never suffered that kind of abuse (for which I am extremely thankful), I worry about how well I write these things. Having been bullied for most of my secondary school life (the problem of taking on the role of the year group freak), I applied the same principles. Seeing as you commented on it, I am planning on writing books, and I've sort-of started a couple of them. The main one is one that I can't do a lot more to without doing a lot of research into several topics, plus I have lots of uni work to do. I have plans for others as well. I be published one day!

A Monkey's Harp: I agree with you about Hermione; but then, if she's never experienced it, she probably wouldn't know what to look for – plus Draco's extremely skilled at putting on a front and constructing defensive walls. Glad you like the hero-complex thing!

CloudofDreams: Draco's health is not an issue I'm prepared to comment on at the moment. Hermione does usually understand things, but she resents Harry being so secretive – and also the fact that there's something she doesn't know! I'm afraid I do have rather strong feelings about Justin Finch-Fletchley; it was CoS when he was going on about Eton that did it for me. You're right about Harry being "a bit of a hormonal brat" in OotP! The French penpal thing will be dragged out for a while yet – it's a trick of the trade to keep the audience reading and coming back for more! (That, and maximising the number of possible reviewers!)Samhaincat: oh, you poor thing. You really do have my sympathies. I hate computer problems; the IT system at uni _still_ hasn't been completely sorted! It's been at least 5 months now. Hannah is by nature a very sympathetic person.

Samhaincat: oh, you poor thing. You really do have my sympathies. I hate computer problems; the IT system at uni hasn't been completely sorted! It's been at least 5 months now. Hannah is by nature a very sympathetic person. 

The Lady Quotes: I can never tire of reviews that include the phrase "poor Draco" for this fic. He really is having a dreadful time of it – but you can guarantee he'll never go out without wrapping up properly again! And Hannah Abbott ROCKS. End of story.

Rinkurocks: Yay! I'm converting people to the DMHA pairing! (blushes from praise) And I really need to take more care when typing; I keep writing 'peole' instead of 'people'!Silfion: Yay! New reviewer! Another DMHA convert! Party time! (goes red from praise) I'm obviously doing a good job if I've got so many people hooked!

Jmmy: bribery is indeed a wonderful thing and I hope this chapter prompts a longer review…(nudge nudge wink wink) I will look at your fics once I've got the time – still got a 3,500-word essay to do at the moment. Cliffhangers, and hints and suggestions, are also wonderful because they keep the readers coming back for more – and the review tally increasing! Draco's one of my favourite characters to write about. And yes, there are indeed romances! I haven't really put much into them because I didn't when I was writing it originally and so with one couple there isn't much at all. I've tried to incorporate more detail into it but it didn't work so you're just going to have to imagine that in the scenes you don't see they'll be together and talking and holding hands and going round the back of Sprout's greenhouses for a snog…;)

Rebell: no, Ron doesn't know. Do you really think he's likely to find out? In some ways Lucius strikes me as being worse than Voldemort.Dark Lady Arantraneth: you have a very cunning plan! Hmmm, now you've given me an idea for a parody spin-off…

Ruperts-a-honey: your guess that it's a DMHA romance is correct! I've fallen in love with this pairing, and a lot of my fics that feature Draco also include Hannah. As far as I'm aware I'm just about the only DMHA shipper on There must be others out there somewhere!

TinorialPeredhil: Harry James Potter, I agree, will never win an Oscar! He just can't act very well at all. Draco Malfoy, on the other hand, definitely stands a good chance – although if they're not even going to give it to Captain Sparrow, Draco had better not get his hopes up too much. Who did win Best Actor last year? Hermione is just nosy by nature because she wants to know absolutely . We don't really know anything about Justin, but the mere fact that he was going on about Eton in CoS was enough to put me off him for life! I spent all 14 years of my school life in state schools and it hasn't hindered me! (Besides which, my parents could never afford to send me to a private school).


	15. Sleeping in the Great Hall

Reaching Maturity

**Disclaimer:** if they were mine, would I be writing fanfiction? Ergo, they are _not_ my characters. Some of the prefects belong to me: Katie Harper, Andrew McIntosh, Primrose Devaney, Thomas West, Zoë West, James McIlroy, Becky Jordan, Mark Edwards, Rita Palmer, Geoff deVille, Tarquin Baldrick (thanks for that, Tara Gilliam!) and Cecilia Rickman.

**A/N:**apologies if you don't like my naming the prefects, but if I don't name them now it will interrupt the flow of the story later on. So don't bother complaining; it's the best point in the story to name them all.

WHERE HAVE ALL MY REVIEWERS GONE? (I'm sure you're reading – at least, I hope you are – but my inbox is looking a little empty at the moment…hint hint)

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

Chapter 15: Sleeping in the Great Hall

Within an hour, all the students were huddled in the sleeping bags on the camp beds that Dumbledore, McGonagall and Flitwick had conjured up for them. The prefects, with the exception of Draco, and head students were assembled at the front of the Hall with the teachers, all serious and grave.

Harry regarded everyone closely. The seventh-years consisted of himself, Ron and Hermione from Gryffindor. There was Hannah Abbott and Ernie Macmillan from Hufflepuff. Padma Patil, Anthony Goldstein and Chris Moon were from Ravenclaw, and Morag Macdougal from Slytherin (Pansy Parkinson had been the Slytherin girls' prefect, but various actions in her sixth year had prompted Snape to replace her with Morag).

The sixth-years were Ginny Weasley and Colin Creevey (Gryffindor), Katie Harper and Andrew McIntosh (Hufflepuff), Luna Lovegood and Michael Corner (Ravenclaw), and Cecilia Rickman and Tarquin Baldrick (Slytherin).

The fifth-years were Zoë West and James McIlroy (Gryffindor), Primrose Devaney and Thomas West, twin of Zoë (Hufflepuff), Mark Edwards and Becky Jordan, sister of ex-Gryffindor student and Quidditch commentator Lee Jordan (Ravenclaw), and Rita Palmer and Geoff deVille (Slytherin). They, however, were not involved in whatever was going on, having been declared 'too young' by Professor Sprout.

"Things have become far more dangerous. That is all I am saying," McGonagall was telling deVille sternly. "Now, to bed with you eight." None of them dared argue.

She beckoned to the seventeen sixth- and seventh-year students to follow her out into the corridor, away from inquisitive ears. Only when the doors of the Hall had shut behind her did she continue. "We have a reliable outside source that can keep us updated on certain things that are impacting on situations such as this."

"There are to be four two-hour shifts. None of you are expected to remain awake for the entire night – you still have lessons to attend, after all," Dumbledore informed them, appearing behind McGonagall. "It's eleven now; I want Hufflepuffs on duty until one, Ravenclaws from one till three, Slytherins three till five, and Gryffindors from five till seven. Sleep when you are not on shift. You will be patrolling the Hall, ensuring students are asleep and not talking. The younger ones may be scared, so try to reassure them. Report anything suspicious to a member of staff. There will always be a minimum of two teachers on duty in the Hall. Professor Sinistra is in close communication with the ghosts, and they will be reporting to her. The ghosts may also wish to speak with you. Any questions?"

"We're a prefect short," pointed out Cecilia Rickman, a girl with wild black hair that she usually wore in two plaits. She had a reputation for being late for everything. "Draco Malfoy's still up in the hospital wing."

"Mr. Moon, would you care to join the Slytherin prefects?"

Chris nodded. "May as well."

"When you wake the next set of prefects, brief them of any incidents. Now, bed except for you Hufflepuffs."

The prefects that were going to sleep joined their House's fifth-year prefects, near the doors of the Great Hall. Most students seemed to stick together in their houses. The Gryffindor seventh-years huddled up together in a corner, not too far from the Hufflepuffs' currently unoccupied beds. Ginny joined them. "What I don't get is why we're all camped out in here when, by all accounts, V-V-Voldemort is nowhere near Hogwarts," she whispered. "At least with Sirius they only did this to us when he was actually in the castle walls! And what about showers and so on?"

"I expect we'll be able to go back at seven or so," said Hermione logically. "Breakfast isn't until quarter to eight, after all."

"Quiet now," Professor Sprout ordered, walking past them.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

"Harry! _Harry_!" Cecilia hissed at five that morning, shaking him violently. "Wake _up_! It's your shift!"

"Huh?" Beside Harry, Ron slowly rolled over as Tarquin Baldrick shook him awake.

Hermione, Ginny and Colin were already up, Colin as bright and chirpy as ever. Hermione rolled her eyes as Ron's eyelids fluttered shut again. She muttered something and a jet of icy-cold water shot out of the end of her wand, straight into Ron's face. He sat bolt upright, wide awake, spluttering. "_Hermione_! What did you have to go and do that for?" he demanded furiously.

"Keep your voice down!" she ordered. "Serves you right for trying to go back to sleep!"

Cecilia gestured down the Hall. "There are some Ravenclaw third-years in that corner that won't go to sleep," she informed them. "I took ten points from Ravenclaw a few minutes ago, so that may or may not have done the trick." She retied the green ribbon on the end of one of her braids, yawning.

"We'll keep you posted," Harry told her, amazed at the degree of solidarity that had suddenly sprung up between the Slytherin prefects and the other prefects. _Maybe the rest of the school will follow in their example_, he thought. _Although that may be wishful thinking_.

"Draco doesn't need to know about all of this, does he?" asked Cecilia, yawning again. "God, I'm tired. I just hope I can get some sleep." She pointed to the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, which was pitch black, every last star blotted out by the bank of angry clouds. She flinched as a flash of lightning momentarily lit up the Hall in a whitish light, both from the ceiling and outside. A second later the rain outside began violently striking the windows of the Hall. A deafening crash of thunder woke quite a few people, and a first-year somewhere began crying. Hermione lit her wand and waded through the mass of students to find the girl and comfort her.

"This is why I like the dungeons," said Cecilia. "We don't have thunderstorms. I don't like them at all." She lay down on her camp bed, staring up at the ceiling. Harry, Ron, Ginny and Colin left her and began walking in amongst the students.

Snape appeared in the doorway. The lightning that flashed at that moment illuminated his foreboding outline, momentarily panicking the Gryffindors until they realised who it was when he lit his wand and beckoned them over. "Granger, Potter, I need a word with you. Outside."

Puzzled, Harry and Hermione nevertheless followed him into the corridor. Lupin stood there, a grim look on his worn face. "Your Great-Aunt Louisa's owl just arrived, Hermione. She's marked it 'urgent', which probably explains why the poor owl's looking rather bedraggled." He handed the parchment, a water-repellent spell on it, to Hermione.

Hermione took it and quickly scanned it. "Well, she's complaining a lot about the number of storms they've been having recently – far more than normal…next door's cat has had more kittens…Oh! Now _this _is interesting!"

"What is?" asked Lupin.

"She says she's _sure_ she's seen '_that strange abstract (is that the word?) French artist Marie-something Lenoir near Swindon the other day_'. Says she was with '_a tall man with pale eyes and white-blond hair, very aristocratic-looking, and bears a very close resemblance to Caius Malfoy, who was in the year below her at Hogwarts_'. She recalls him being Lucius Malfoy's father."

"An even nastier piece of work that Lucius," said Snape, shuddering as though half-lost in some distant memory.

"So it would appear that Lenoir and Malfoy are in league with each other," mused Lupin, starting at the huge crash of thunder.

"And if what Draco has to say is accurate, Pettigrew can't be far behind," added Harry.

"Can I finish?" snapped Hermione.

"Sorry. Do continue," Harry hastily apologised.

"_Thank_ you. Aunt Louisa says that there was a man with Lenoir and Malfoy, and that she was astounded at the resemblance he bore to Pettigrew, even though _'it cannot be possible as he was murdered all those years ago by Sirius Black_' –" She stopped, as Lupin was beginning to swell with fury.

Snape put a restraining hand on his colleague's shoulder. "Lupin, you know that the vast majority of the wizarding world still does not believe in Black's innocence," he reminded him.

Lupin pulled free, shaking himself and letting out an impatient noise. "Apologies, Hermione. But it just makes me so angry to hear one of my best friends being wrongly viewed as a murderer."

Hermione cleared her throat, Snape's face showing that they were about to enter a sensitive area. "She also says that I'm to expect an owl from Neville's grandmother in the next few days – she was in the same year as Aunt Louisa at school and they were really good friends – because apparently there have been some strange goings-on near where she lives in Hebden Bridge."

"Where?" asked Harry.

"West Yorkshire, near Lancashire. Pendle Hill is infamous for witches. Ever heard of the Pendle Witches?"

Harry just looked blank. Hermione groaned impatiently. "We looked at them at the end of second year and the start of third year, remember?"

"No."

"We had that essay on witch-burning for holiday work between second and third year. Wendelin the Weird and so on?"

"Vaguely."

Hermione shook her head irritably. "Anyway, that's pretty much it. All the important stuff, at any rate."

"You'd better go back into the Hall," said Lupin. "The others will be wondering what's happened to you." He glanced through the window at the black sky. Although the sun was supposed to be rising, the storm was still raging.

Hermione took Harry's hand and led him back into the Great Hall, where they joined up with the other Gryffindor prefects.

"What was that all about?" asked Ron in a low voice as they sat down on their beds, a good vantage point to spot any trouble. His bed also provided a good view of Parvati Patil.

"Nothing for you to be worrying about," said Hermione, rather brusquely. She opened her mouth to say something else, but broke off and hurried away to deal with a few second-year girls that were threatening to start a pillow fight.

"Harry?" Ron pressed, but Harry shook his head. "Don't ask for details, Ron. I can't say anything."

Ron angrily turned his back on Harry and stood, returning to his patrol of the Hall.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

It was the same set-up the following night. Ravenclaw were on duty first, followed by Slytherin, Gryffindor and then Hufflepuff. Harry and Hermione spent most of their shift in deep discussion with the ghosts and teachers. Nearly Headless Nick wasn't there – Dumbledore had sent him on a mission to Inverness to see if he could obtain any information from his fellow ghosts.

"I don't like this at all," the Fat Friar, Hufflepuff's ghost, was saying. "There's all sorts of rumours going round. Particularly now Nick's gone on his mission…" He turned to Sinistra as she joined them. "Any news, Professor?"

She shook her head briefly. "Blasted centaurs and their 'Jupiter is dull in comparison to Mars'…_stuff_! Couldn't get a straight answer out of them if you used a Summoning spell!" She was fuming. Cassie Sinistra was a brisk, no-nonsense witch who had nothing but disdain for any kind of divination – hence her subject of Astronomy. "Don't ask me what whoever it was meant by that statement; I have absolutely _no idea **whatsoever**_!" She registered the presence of Harry, Ron and Hermione for the first time. "My lot finished their shift?" Sinistra was a fairly likeable ex-Slytherin.

"It's three-thirty," Hermione informed her. "We've been on for half an hour."

"I can't wait for the Hogsmeade trip later," said Ron. "It'll be good to get out of here for a while."

"That is no longer possible, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall informed him in a low voice, joining them. "Ministry and school restrictions. It isn't safe. Though I may pop into the village later myself, briefly. Oh, and Potter?"

Harry looked startled. "Yes, Professor?"

"That dog you, Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger appear to have made friends with will have to stay inside Hogwarts if you want him to stand any chance of survival."

"Why?" asked Hermione anxiously. She knew that McGonagall knew that the dog was Sirius.

"The Dementors have left Azkaban."

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

**TBC**

**Author thanks:**

Lucidity: Things for Draco and Hannah have to be slow because it's all so new to them. Hannah's parents are pretty relaxed about most things like boyfriends because they trust her judgement on such things. You are 100 correct about Marie; she really doesn't have many morals at all!

Jmmy: Nope, this fic isn't meant to be 'sweet' as such – but there are some sweet moments in it as I'm an incurable romantic at heart (despite my usual sarcasm and cynicism). Are you now converted to the Draco/Hannah shipping? What sort of writing hints do you want?

Heartsyhawk: My aim is to draw in my readers and have them completely under my manipulative power! (cackles evilly) ONE ESSAY TO GO!

Dark-Rune1: (blushes tomato red) Each and every review means a lot to me and I'm glad I can write things accurately. Getting accurate, realistic emotions is one of the integral elements to a good story; the characters and their experiences seem that bit more real and genuine. I also hope that this isn't too painful for you; I know there are a few things that I've come across that are just too difficult to deal with and read at the moment.

TinorialPeredhil: Draco isn't one to forgive easily or quickly – partly because it's in his nature (he's good at bearing grudges!) and partly because forgiveness is something of an unfamiliar concept to him. as for Marie – let's just say she's not the sort of person I'd spend much time with! She's devious, manipulative and knows exactly how to get what she wants. RotK deserved every award it got! And a certain pirate captain deserved the award he was nominated for. Grrr. Justin is basically me playing on the British public school stereotypes.

Samhaincat: Draco really is a 'poor thing' at the moment. He's still very ill, both physically and mentally. He's incredibly fragile, and Hannah recognises this. She knows that he needs her, and she's fallen big time for him because she can see what he's like underneath the act he puts on. Different people in this fic have their own reasons for wanting to know what's happened to Narcissa.

Rebell: that image of Draco is an incredibly sad one; I agree with you. It kind of stuck in my mind as well. I love the Draco/Hannah thing as well! ;) have I converted you to this pairing yet?


	16. A Long Discussion

Reaching Maturity

**Disclaimer:** if you've got this far and still think they're mine, I pity you. I have borrowed them – with every intention of returning them. Katie Harper is, though, mine, as she is not one of Rowling's creations to date. Oh, and Narnia belongs to CS Lewis, a good friend of JRR Tolkien.

**A/N:** This chapter is accidentally a lot longer than the restA/N 2: minor spoiler for the end of the _Narnia_ books, so if you haven't read them to _The Last Battle_, beware!

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

Chapter 16: A Long Discussion

Dumbledore made the announcement about the Dementors' departure from Azkaban to the whole school at breakfast, and was met with dead silence. "It is inevitable that they will now join Voldemort; every piece of evidence, and their very nature, suggests it. Any Hogsmeade visits, including today's, are, therefore, cancelled indefinitely. If any of you know of any secret passages out of the school, you would be more than foolish to risk using them; you would be risking your very existence. You are forbidden from leaving the school grounds without permission.

"I need you all to understand that this is not just a mere inconvenience or that it has been imposed merely for the amusement of the staff or so that we can make things as difficult as possible for you all. It is for _your safety_. I am sure that I need not tell you that, should these rules be disobeyed, I shall ensure that your parents understand that you were warned and have therefore brought it on yourself. They have already been sent letters containing details of these new rules."

A murmuring broke out amongst the students, with many of the third-years looking distinctly mutinous, having only just begun to experience the delights of the wizarding village.

Dumbledore cleared his throat and silence fell again. "I should also add that, due to a directive from the Ministry of Magic, Quidditch will take place at a much lower height than usual – including practices. Posts and stands will be lowered accordingly. And," he added, "I shall remind you _yet again_ to keep _out_ of the Forbidden Forest. Hence its name. There is a risk that some of the beings that reside in the Forest have turned to Voldemort, and will therefore be extremely dangerous – more so than usual that is." He sat down. His words had stunned the students into total silence – an extremely rare occurrence at breakfast, particularly as it lasted the entire length of the meal. Afterwards, Harry, Hermione and Hannah went up to the hospital wing.

"I take it you've heard?" inquired Madam Pomfrey as they entered. They nodded, and she pursed her lips. "I don't like this one bit, I don't mind telling you. The house-elves are busy making plenty of chocolate, in case any Dementor tries to get into the school, most likely on the orders of You-Know-Who." She took them through to see Draco, who was idly sketching in a Muggle sketchpad that Hannah had given him. "Professors Lupin and Figg have abandoned their original lesson plans and will now be teaching proper defensive magic to everyone – and that includes the Patronus charm. I hope you've got some extremely happy memories close to hand – oh, I know_ you_ can do them, Potter."

"So can Hannah and myself," Hermione informed her. "We learnt it in fifth year, from Harry, in DA. _And_ Lupin's been teaching us."

"That's me done for, then," said Draco bitterly, laying the sketchpad down on the covers. Hannah glanced at the page that lay open. It depicted a bare room with the outline of a tall man, towering, wand in hand, over a small child huddled on the floor in the middle of the room. The picture was clearly unfinished, but it was perfectly apparent that the man was intended to be robed in black. His skin and long hair were unshaded, unblemished apart from a tiny mark on his exposed left forearm, near the elbow. The child was dressed in Muggle-style clothing and was barefoot, with the same unshaded skin and hair, though the hair was short.

"Wow! This is _brilliant_!" breathed Hannah, picking up the book to examine the picture more closely.

"He's been spending most of the last two days on it when he wasn't asleep. He's had plenty of time because you didn't come," Pomfrey informed her.

"Why _didn't_ you come?" asked Draco, pulling his knees up to his chest so Hermione could sit on the bed – there were only two chairs, and Harry and Hannah were sat in them. The three glanced nervously at each other.

"Well?" he demanded forcefully, coughing.

Harry took a deep breath. "Things have got far more dangerous, apparently – or so all the teachers say. Personally, I reckon Voldemort's been seen near the school. Nearly Headless Nick's gone out to see if he can get any more information."

"Ghosts can do that?"

"Apparently."

"They've had us sleeping in the Great Hall for the last couple of nights, and we're not allowed to leave the building unless it's for lessons, mainly Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures," added Hermione.

"And all Hogsmeade visits are cancelled indefinitely," finished Hannah, somewhat gloomily.

Draco stared at them in horror, grasping the bedsheets tightly. "The last battle," he murmured.

"Are you referring loosely to the _Narnia_ books, by any chance?" asked Hermione in amazement.

Draco nodded. "There was a half-Muggle tutor living in the village near us. Father wanted me to have a private tutor to ensure I got a 'basic understanding of necessary skills'." He smiled wryly. "I don't think he planned on me turning into a bookworm. He got the tutor to come up to the manor to teach me. Maths, English – a lot of grammar – geography, history, wretched _piano_ that I hated with a passion…That sort of stuff. She lent me books. I loved Narnia."

"I never read Narnia," said Harry. "Uncle Vernon wouldn't let me."

"The last one's called _The Last Battle_," explained Draco. "Basically there's a final battle to save Narnia and the bad guys disappear for good and they all go into the 'new' Narnia – a new world, if you will. It's kind of complicated – although at the end –"

"Don't tell me!" Harry interrupted. "I might want to read it one day, and if you tell me the ending now, you'll ruin it!"

"The final battle between good and evil," added Hannah.

Draco nodded. "This is what it's all going to come down to. It was always going to. The final showdown between 'good' and 'evil'; Harry and the Dark Lord. If Harry defeats him, he'll _never_ be able to return. If the Dark Lord wins…" He gave Harry an odd look – a combination of pity, fear and worry. "If _he_ wins, it's over for the rest of us. The Dark Arts will rule. The Dark Lord will overpower all that resist him. Most of us will be dead. Only those that become Death Eaters stand _any_ chance of survival. Even then, if they don't keep proving themselves, they'll be killed. No mercy. It would be like it was before, with the entire wizarding world living in crippling fear. I do envisage his rule eventually collapsing, imploding, but only because he'll have killed off the entire magical world.

"Hermione, you'd be one of the first to go, being completely Muggleborn. It wouldn't be too much longer before – before you went either, Hannah." His voice caught in his throat. "Your grandmother's a Muggle. And your family have always resisted the Dark Side."

"What about you?" asked Hermione. "You're pureblood. Plus you're a Malfoy. That would stand you in good stead, surely."

He let out a short, cynical laugh. "Oh, the Dark Lord wouldn't kill me. No chance of that happening. Oh no. The moment the great Lucius Malfoy, the Dark Lord's right-hand man, heard that his own son had joined forces with the Muggleborns such as Hermione Granger, paupers like the Weasleys, half-breeds like Professor Lupin, and Harry Potter himself, I'd be dead. Not before putting me under Cruciatus, of course, to hear me beg for mercy. Unless this blasted illness ends up being the death of me." His chilly, bleak voice, tinged with sorrow and bitterness, sent shivers down the spines of his three visitors – mainly because they could all envisage it all too clearly for themselves. It was disturbing, horrific, and they sat in silence for a while.

Eventually, Hermione broke the silence. "How did you work all this out?" she asked hesitantly.

"I've been lying up here long enough. More than enough time to sit around and think gloomy thoughts to depress myself further, and contemplate possible outcomes of things as they stand, and outcomes of the battle that will be fought – and soon, I imagine."

"It's scary," said Hannah soberly. "It's only too possible." She shuddered.

"Well, we just won't let Voldemort win, then, will we?" cried Hermione fiercely, pounding her fist down hard on the bed, making Draco wince slightly. "We're going to beat him once and for all!"

"Calm down, Hermione," said Draco nervously, eyeing her in slight alarm, not knowing what she would do next. He leaned back into the pillows that were propping him up, tired after his long speech and retreating warily from Hermione.

Pomfrey bustled up. "You three should be getting off to your lessons. Now." She ushered them out and then returned, turning to Draco. "You look exhausted already. Too much talking, I'll warrant."

He shrugged. "Probably." He picked up his sketchbook and pencil, and turned to a clean page, beginning to work on something new. After a while, Pomfrey reappeared at his side. "That's a pretty unpleasant scene," she observed. "Violent, even."

"It's meant to be," he told her shortly. Although he had only put in the outlines, the picture clearly depicted a small child cowering in a corner, arms raised protectively over his face. A man loomed menacingly over him, hands gripping the child's wrists tightly.

Madam Pomfrey sat down on the bed beside Draco. "Are they the same people that were in the other picture you were drawing earlier?" she asked carefully.

Draco tensed, before slowly, hesitantly, nodding. "It was Hannah's idea. 'Art therapy', I think she called it."

"That girl is far smarter than she gets credit for," said Pomfrey. "Now, don't you go tiring yourself out."

"I won't," he promised, giving her a small, appeasing smile.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

"I want those essays on the comparisons between different Truth Potions," Snape told his seventh-year Gryffindors and Slytherins briskly. "I will not accept any excuses – even that of being dead. We will be making the mildest truth potion today, to be tested at a later date to allow it time to mature – _if_ it is done correctly, that is." The corners of his mouth twitched unpleasantly. "Most likely on yourselves. Once I have your essay, you may begin." He swept round the dungeon, collecting in the essays and distributing disparaging remarks to most students, who either flushed red or scowled, glaring hatefully at his back.

They worked in silence as Snape patrolled the room, examining their progress – or lack thereof. Harry was quietly confident about his. It was translucent grass green in colour and smelled distinctly of pine, which it was supposed to do.

Eventually Snape informed them that they should be finishing. "I am bringing round a small bottle for you each. You will write your name on a label and attach it to your bottle. As I stated earlier, we will test it later on in the term. The shelf for you is clearly labelled in the NEWT cupboard; do _not_ put it with the sixth-years' potions."

One by one the students ladled samples of their completed potion into their bottle and took them over to the marked shelf. Snape eyed a couple of students' distinctly _un_-green potions and looked up at the ceiling, sighing wearily. "Put them on the shelf anyway and we shall see," he said resignedly, just as Blaise Zabini dropped his bottle, which smashed on the stone floor. "Clean that up, Zabini. I suppose it _is_ the right colour, which is more than can be said for _some_."

"If it was a Gryffindor, he'd take points off for carelessness," Ron muttered angrily in Harry's ear. Harry nodded, although it was more to pacify Ron than as a sign that he agreed with him. He was unsure about Snape now – he had been noticeably fairer recently, presumably due to the growing fear of possible divisions in the school houses, exacerbated by Voldemort.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

The students were getting used to sleeping in the Great Hall rather than their dormitories, and having the ghosts, teachers and prefects on patrol. Three days after the incident in Potions, Nearly Headless Nick returned to the school, unable to learn anything new. "Nothing to report, unless the locals know something and aren't saying," he told the gathered teachers and prefects.

"If we really don't know where Voldemort is – don't look at me like that, Ron Weasley; it's only a name – why don't we just go back to sleeping in our dormitories?" asked Cecilia. "There are only so many nights the kids can all stand to sleep in the Great Hall on little camp-beds, no matter how comfortable it is. If he was sighted in or near Hogsmeade, fair enough, but surely we would know if he was _that_ close?"

"I will wait until I receive reliable information that reassures me," Dumbledore told her quietly. "There is far more to it than you are aware of, Miss Rickman. I wish to keep a close eye on all my students at the moment." He glanced briefly at Harry and Hermione, and they immediately understood the meaning behind his words – no student Death Eater could regularly disappear from under the Headmaster's eye on the same occasions that Snape also did, without revealing their identity.

Dumbledore became businesslike again. "Gryffindors are on the first shift tonight. The rest of you, get some sleep." He darkened the Hall with a flick of his wand and the prefects dispersed. Ron, Ginny and Colin began walking up and down, enforcing silence and encouraging students to go to sleep. Harry and Hermione slipped silently into the corridor, where they were met by Lupin and Snape. A large, shaggy black dog sat by Lupin's feet and Snape was eyeing it with pure revulsion. Lupin nudged the dog. "Sirius."

Sirius obligingly transformed back into his human form. "I've just got back from Emily Longbottom's." He handed Hermione a folded-up letter that he had removed from his robes. "Lucius Malfoy has been seen in the area – _very_ close to where Emily lives in Hebden Bridge. He's been going up onto the hillsides a lot. I followed him up there but I soon lost him once he Apparated." He scowled angrily.

"That's near Pendle Hill," stated Hermione knowledgeably.

Sirius nodded in confirmation. "I reckon Narcissa's around there somewhere. The problem is finding out without making it completely bloody obvious that I'm there."

"You can borrow my Invisibility Cloak," offered Harry. "I'm not likely to need it in the near future."

"Thanks." Sirius smiled at him briefly before his face darkened. "How's Draco?"

"He's a lot better, but Madam Pomfrey won't let him back into lessons just yet, after what happened last time; he gets tired really easily still. He spends a lot of his time drawing; he's really good. A lot of the things he draws are really dark in content. He's not stupid – he knows what's going on; he reckons it's going to come down to a final battle – kind of Armageddon-esque," replied Hermione. "He's been talking about the possible outcomes. But we do know one thing – he's going to be fighting with us, not against us."

"He'll go down in history as the first Malfoy to _not_ immerse himself in the Dark Arts," remarked Snape softly.

Hermione was focused on reading the letter from Mrs. Longbottom. There was little more information from what Sirius had divulged. One sentence, though, caused her to raise her eyebrows in surprise. "Emily Longbottom was at school with Aunt Louisa," she observed.

"The issue," said Sirius, "is whether or not we tell the child about his mother."

"Draco is eighteen in a month, Black; I hardly think he qualifies as a 'child', especially considering how quickly he has had to grow up," said Snape coldly, glaring at Sirius.

"_Children_…" cut in Lupin warningly. "We're working _together_ here, so for goodness' sake put aside your animosity once and for all and _grow **up**_."

Harry leaned against the wall, stifling a yawn. "But what the hell can we _do_?"

"Nothing," Sirius told him sharply. "_You_ do _nothing_. Hear me? Hermione?"

The two students nodded mutinously – after all, Sirius hardly had the best of records of obedience.

"Good. Harry, I'll take that Invisibility Cloak, if you'd be so kind."

Harry hurried off, Nearly Headless Nick tailing him just to ensure that no harm came to him, and Hermione folded her arms across her chest. "And you're going to rush headlong into something that you aren't prepared for?" she demanded archly.

"I'm staying up at The Three Broomsticks for a few days to plan the next move. I'm not _that_ stupid."

Snape arched one black eyebrow sceptically, but a warning look from Lupin forced him to hold his tongue.

"When Harry gets back, I'll be off," Sirius told them. "So you don't have to put up with me for much longer, _Snivellus_." A quick reaction from Lupin was the only thing that prevented Sirius' existence from being instantly terminated by the end of Snape's wand.

Harry soon returned and handed the Cloak to his godfather. Sirius promised not to lose it, and assured Hermione that he would be careful (Hermione's face clearly told him that she was far from convinced). He hugged Harry briefly.

"Touching as this little scene undoubtedly is, I'm sure you'd best be making yourself scarce, Black," interrupted Snape's cutting voice.

"All right, all right, I'm _going_." Sirius was about to transform into his Animagus form, when the sound of frantic footsteps began echoing down the corridor, growing louder as the runner raced towards them.

"Mr. Malfoy?" said Lupin in surprise. "What brings you here? Shouldn't you be –"

Draco put one hand against the wall, gasping for breath. "Pomfrey…sent me," he wheezed. "Three Dementors…in the grounds…Saw them…from…window." He sank to the floor in a violent coughing fit.

"I'll get Dumbledore," Hermione volunteered, glancing at the Marauder's Map, which Harry had thrust into her hands. It revealed Dumbledore in his office, and she sped off, leaving Sirius to transform and Lupin and Snape to focus their attention on Draco.

She was quick to arrive at the Headmaster's office and relayed the information to him. He nodded briefly and dismissed her, moving from his office and along the school corridor at a pace wholly unexpected for a man of his age – even a wizard. Hermione returned to the Entrance Hall at a rather more sedate pace, and discovered all the teachers and prefects there, including Draco, who had Hannah's arm around his waist for support. Dumbledore was briefing them on what Draco and Madam Pomfrey had seen. He ordered the prefects to be extra vigilant whilst the teachers were outside dealing with the Dementors.

A short while later the teachers slipped back into the Great Hall, quietly informing the prefects that the threat had been removed and that anti-Dementor charms had been set up around the castle. Draco was handing out chocolate to everyone, which Pomfrey had given him to supply everyone with.

"I don't like this," Katie Harper murmured from the corner she was sitting in, knees drawn up close to her chest. "There's no way I'll be able to get back to sleep now."

"Same here," said Zoë West. "How much longer before the Muggleborns start being murdered? The _Daily Prophet_'s reporting deaths and disappearances almost daily. I'm Muggle-born."

"So am I," said Hermione.

"My grandfather is," interjected Andrew McIntosh.

"My father's a Muggle," said Padma.

"My mother," said Mark Edwards.

"I'm pureblood but I'm a Weasley – as is Ginny. What chance does _my_ family stand?" asked Ron of nobody in particular.

"My family won't be untouched; I know that much," said Cecilia. "Us Rickmans may be one of the oldest pureblood wizarding families, but half are on the Dark Side and the rest of us are with Dumbledore. I was falling for the seduction of the Dark Arts, I admit it, but I've seen the reality of it, and it's not right, what they do. Ergo, I've probably been marked for death."

Tarquin Baldrick just looked completely terrified.

"My father will _definitely_ kill me," said Draco quietly, his tone sending icy shivers down the spines of the rest of the prefects, "once he finds out I'm not joining him in the Dark Lord's ranks."

Ron stared at him in utter disbelief. "You've been saying that you support You-Know-Who ever since the very first time we met, Malfoy!" he spat. "Why should I – or any of us here – believe you now?"

Draco shrugged, and turned his grey eyes on Ron, staring evenly at him. "You don't _have_ to believe me, Weasley," he replied in his old drawl. "Even if it happens to be true."

"Too right I don't! And I _don't _believe you, Malfoy! I don't trust you one bit; I never have and I never will!"

"Shut _up_!" hissed Hermione furiously. "You'll wake people!"

"All _right_! This has gone far enough!" interrupted Harry, coming between the two prefects, placing his hands on Ron's chest and propelling him back from Draco, who was distinctly shorter than the redhead. "Ron, keep hold of your tongue in future. Draco, stop winding him up. Is that clear?"

The two nodded sulkily.

"_Good_." Harry shook his head resignedly. It was just like watching Sirius and Snape all over again.

Now the confrontation was over, the prefects took up various tasks such as patrolling the Hall, or having discussions with the teachers and ghosts. Hannah and Draco, having found a spare camp bed and sleeping bag for Draco, set them up and then sat down on Hannah's bedding, which was against a wall. Draco leaned heavily against her - _well, as heavy as Draco **can** get_, Harry corrected himself – and her arm was tightly around him, along with her cloak. With the exception of the somewhat fragile and currently dozing Draco, the prefects were sharp and alert, springing into action at the slightest noise, wands in hands in case of any emergency. Several teachers quietly advised the prefects to get some sleep at some point in the night, and they all eventually drifted into a light, uneasy sleep.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

**TBC**

**Author thanks:**

CloudofDreams: maths coursework…(shudders) Apology is perfectly acceptable! My life was put on hold for such things. Mrs. Thompson actually had to get one of my classmates to help me with it because I just didn't have a clue! I never really got the formula, and I think I was the slowest in my entire year for both pieces of coursework.

I'm not telling you about Narcissa! The thing with Draco is that he's probably a lot more complex than he seems to be when you read the books, but the books are Harry's POV so we only see Draco how _Harry_ sees him. The centaurs are more astrologers than astronomers – hence Firenze – was it Firenze? My copy of OotP is 300 miles away from me (or about 2 miles away from you, if that!) – taking over Divination in said book. Sinistra is a fact/science/evidence person and has no time for astrology.

You could perchance be correct on the romance front! Snape's one of my favourite characters; he's incredibly complex and therefore great to write about – and also he was bullied and was the social outcast, and I've been there, for 7 years pretty much. I've found that at uni people tend to be more accepting (although not everyone is…). Snape's technically a good guy, but if he was nice to Harry (particularly following the end of GoF), his cover could all too easily be blown. Plus, I suspect that every time he looks at Harry, for a split second he sees James, which must be incredibly hard for him. And yes, Lupin does rock! I have a nasty feeling that he may be the one to be bumped off (although don't trust my word – a certain fluorescent-orange-lab-coat-wearing chemistry teacher predicted that Sirius would be killed off in OotP, so ask her!)

Jmmy: (cackles evilly) YAAAAAAAAAY! I'm recruiting people for the Draco/Hannah ship! All aboard! Drink up me hearties, yo ho! Savvy? ;-) Sorry- I've got the PotC soundtrack on at the moment!

Heartsyhawk: essay is now DONE! Yay!

TinorialPeredhil: I wanted a scary bit and the whole idea of a silhouetted figure being briefly lit up by lightning (notice how it's always lightning!) is ages old but incredibly effective, so I used it. OK, I'm now hiding because I don't want to be there when Aragorn comes after you to reclaim Andúril! Excuse me? It most certainly is not attempted murder! You think I _want_ to kill off my readers? But if I did that I wouldn't have any lovely reviewers left! Perhaps accidental manslaughter, but they wouldn't be able to prove it beyond all reasonable doubt. So there! ;-)

Samhaincat: how did I know you'd miss Draco! Relax – chapter 16 has plenty of him! I love tense angsty endings. Or evil cliffhangers. That's how soap operas get people hooked on them; there's something left hanging, so you tune into the next episode to see the outocme of that, and then something else happens so you tune in again to see outcome, et cetera, ad finitum.

Rio b: I'm sure I recall you reading the entire first draft. 100 sure. _Patience is a virtue_. Surely you archaeologists (or future archaeologists) understand that concept? ;-) No offence intended! (Open mouth, insert foot!) But not being able to remember what happens makes it all the more intriguing and compulsive reading! The Dementors leaving Azkaban is highly significant – writer's tool, to show that things are suddenly _happening_ and getting a lot darker and scary.

Dark Lady Arantraneth: Glad to know I'm still doing what I do best!

Frisbee400: I couldn't resist the great-aunt plot twist. We're told Hermione's parents are both Muggles but we know nothing about anyone else in her family. We don't even know if she has any siblings. And regarding romance, you're on the right tracks!

Lucidity: I like my stars as well! I'm really glad you suggested Insert and Symbol in Word! Thankies! Marie is not a pleasant person by any stretch of the imagination.


	17. Sirius Returns to Hogwarts

Reaching Maturity

Disclaimer: do I really need to say that they're not mine _again_? After all, this is not the sort of fic where you suddenly dive in at chapter 17 without reading the rest. But for the record, NOT MINE. Savvy?

I had a horrible dream on Sunday night. It was all about chocolate. Which normally would a fantastic dream. Except for the fact that I've given up chocolate for Lent and it's torture!

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

Chapter 17: Sirius Returns to Hogwarts

A week later at breakfast, Dumbledore announced that the Ministry of Magic had issued a ruling with regards to education, stating that, should either students or parents wish it, students were permitted to go home and not return to school until "matters had been cleared up" – something that did not require the smartest Ravenclaw to ascertain that this should be interpreted as meaning the end of the war.

"I'm not going home," declared Seamus as the Gryffindor seventh-years made their way back to their common room. "Even if me mam and dad wanted me to go, I wouldn't. Not that they will – as far as we're all concerned, wherever Dumbledore is, is the safest place."

"Too right," agreed Harry as they approached the Fat Lady, his hand brushing against Hermione's and discreetly slipping into it.

"Most of the Slytherins'll go and join You-Know-Who," muttered Seamus darkly.

"Malfoy will," said Ron coldly. Parvati, next to him, nodded fervently in agreement.

Harry glared at him, all thoughts of Hermione's hand long gone. "Ron, has it completely escaped your notice that since the night those Dementors came, Pomfrey hasn't let him out of the hospital wing? He's still _ill_, for goodness' sake! Even if he _were_ to join Voldemort – which he _isn't _– what use would he be? He'd collapse within minutes! He'd be completely useless!"

"Break it up," ordered Hermione wearily. "Personally, I'm more concerned about Voldemort's whereabouts. We don't know _anything_. Even if they don't tell the younger ones anything, us older ones are mature enough to not panic, and could even be useful! He could be out of this country for all _we_ know!"

"Unlikely," Harry disagreed. "If he's coming after me – which we all know he is – he's hardly likely to leave Britain!"

"Harry has a point," conceded Dean as Hermione said the password and they all clambered through the portrait hole. "Who's done an essay and left it so close to the fire?"

"That's mine," Parvati informed him.

"You want to be careful putting it there," Seamus advised. "If it goes up in flames, no teacher's going to believe you, and they'll take points off."

Parvati glared at him and snatched up her essay. "I'd hurry if I were you, Seamus. McGonagall doesn't like to be kept waiting." She swept out of the room, Ron hurrying after her, and it wasn't long before the others followed her.

McGonagall was determined that every single student taking Transfiguration at NEWT level _completely _understood every last detail of the theory behind the Animagus transformation. Justin was hauled up for not paying attention and Parvati was told off for doing her nails rather than listening. "After this lesson," McGonagall told her coldly, "you will remove _all_ of that _stuff _from your nails. I will see you at lunchtime to ensure that you have done so. Next time I catch you doing it, you will find yourself in detention." She turned to face the class. "You have your exams in three months. That amounts to just over twelve weeks. Ninety-five days, give or take a few. In other words, you have _very little time left_. Not long – so I suggest you _pay attention_ and do some _work_."

Hannah grabbed Harry and Hermione at the end of the lesson. "It's Draco's birthday in a week," she told them in a low voice. "I want to get him something, but I don't know how, seeing as we're not allowed to leave the school grounds."

"We could ask Sirius," Harry muttered in Hermione's ear.

"He's in Lancashire, remember?" Hermione reminded him, her breath hot against Harry's skin.

"Oh. Yeah."

"So what do we do?" asked Hannah as they moved down the corridor to their next lessons.

"I suppose we could ask Lupin," said Harry slowly. "After all, the teachers still go down into the village. You could tell him what you want to get and give him the money; I reckon he'd be willing to do it."

"Do you know what you want to get him?" asked Hermione.

Hannah shrugged. "I don't; that's half the problem. I want to go down to Hogsmeade and have a good look round, to see what's available. Although I _was_ thinking of some art-type stuff – you've seen his work. He's good at it and he enjoys doing it."

"So get something like that, then," suggested Hermione. "Some paints or something. I'm sure Lupin would get something for you if you asked him."

"Thanks," said Hannah, smiling. "I just wasn't sure. You know?"

Hermione nodded wryly. "I can sympathise with you. It's my parents' silver wedding anniversary in August, and I haven't got a clue what to get them. I mean, seriously – what _can_ you get two dentists?"

"What do you usually get them?" asked Harry.

"Books, garden stuff, that kind of thing. But it's their silver – one of the big ones. I want to get them something _special_."

Hannah stopped momentarily, causing some second-years behind them to walk into her. She gave them a brief lecture on paying attention to where they were going (they were Ravenclaws; they could take being ticked off by a Hufflepuff) and then, after some rummaging, pulled out a wizarding postal catalogue. "Have a flick through this. There's some good stuff in it. It's what I first looked in for Draco."

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

"Harry, Hermione – Lupin wants a word with you." Cecilia stood at the end of the table in the library at which they were sitting. Ron, still in a sulk about being excluded from the meeting in the corridor with Lupin and Snape the other night, was refusing to spend any time with them and was off somewhere with Parvati, according to Neville. Harry, although reluctant to admit it, was rather glad, as it meant that he was able to spend much more time with Hermione.

"Do you think Sirius has found out anything yet?" asked Hermione as they gathered their things up.

Harry shrugged. "I hope so, for Draco's sake. He's desperate for some sort of news."

They arrived in Lupin's office to find the DADA professor sitting on his desk and Snape standing by the door, as far away from the black dog stretched out by the fireplace as possible.

Lupin cleared his throat pointedly and Sirius transformed. Snape glowered at him, but a sharp look from Lupin forced him to keep his mouth shut.

"We have news," Sirius informed them grimly as Snape shut the door. "Narcissa was there at some point. _Un_fortunately, she has since disappeared. I don't know whether they know – or suspect – that we're on to them, or whether this move was already planned – you can never tell with Lucius Malfoy – but either way, there's no sign of her now."

"Did you find anything?" asked Hermione.

Sirius shook his head. "As far as the eye can see, she may as well have never been there. The only way I know she _was_ there is through my enhanced sense of smell as Padfoot. Lucius Malfoy is clever."

"Maybe _too_ clever," cut in Snape softly. "He's always had a tendency to bee slightly too complacent for his own good. Too arrogant. It could well be his downfall. Sooner or later he _will _slip up. It has happened in the past. And the next time it happens, we will be waiting."

"I thought you two were friends?" inquired Lupin mildly.

"Acquaintances, nothing more; his family were far better off financially than mine. Pureblood family connections. Not that either of you two know much about _that_."

"So we're basically back to square one," stated Hermione in an effort to stop the brewing squabble before it began.

Sirius sighed wearily, running his fingers through his black hair. "I honestly don't know, Hermione. Ideally I'd like to speak to Draco, see if he can tell us something we don't already know. He knows his father better than any of us."

"I doubt he can," said Lupin. "And besides, I really doubt that Poppy will let us in to see him. I was talking to her earlier and he's got worse in the last few days. The direct result of falling asleep in the Great Hall last week in nothing more than nightclothes and a dressing-gown, I shouldn't wonder."

"Is there anywhere else Narcissa could be?" asked Harry in an attempt to get back to the original topic. "Professor Snape? You were a Death Eater and you know Lucius Malfoy better than any of us. Have you got any ideas?"

Snape thought hard, staring at the floor as he did so. Eventually he straightened up. "There is a place…" he said slowly. "Apart from the Malfoy Manor itself, of course. It was built as a safe-house for Death Eaters, penetrable for them only."

"Which means I can't go there, I assume," said Sirius.

"Exactly. There's some kind of charm placed on it that senses the presence – or lack – of the Dark Mark. If it does not detect the Mark, attempts by magical folk to get inside will see you blown to tiny little pieces. _Not _a pleasant sight, I'm sure."

"But that could take _days_," Lupin pointed out. "And don't you think the students would get suspicious if you suddenly disappeared? Most of them are highly suspicious of you anyway, and most of the lower school are convinced you're a Voldemort supporter."

"Particularly if there _is _a Death Eater amongst the students," added Hermione.

"That's what the upcoming Easter holidays are for," said Sirius. He scowled. "Much as I hate to admit it, it's the best plan we've got, and if Snape is right, he's the only one of us who can carry it out."

"So we just do _nothing _until Easter?" demanded Harry, frustrated. Everyone seemed to do far too much talking and far too little actually _doing_.

"Yes, Harry. That's _exactly _what we have to do," Lupin replied briskly. "Now, in the meantime, I believe we have a Ravenclaw-Slytherin Quidditch match to focus on?"

"We're not the same with our new Seeker," muttered Snape. "Courtesy, indirectly, of our dear friend Lucius Malfoy." He glanced at the clock on Lupin's mantelpiece. "I must go. I have some third-years in detention." He left the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Moments later there was a knock on the door, and Lupin opened it to find Hannah standing there. "Do come in," he invited.

Hannah obligingly did so. She stopped the moment she laid eyes on Sirius, who had not transformed. She blinked hard at him. "I never thought I'd come face-to-face with the most infamous Azkaban escapee," she remarked. "Harry and Hermione filled me in on the details, Mr. Black; I know you're innocent," she added hastily.

"That's fine, then," replied Sirius, smiling at her. "And if you're a friend of these two, feel free to call me Sirius. Or Padfoot, if you prefer. I've never been one for formalities. I'd make a terrible teacher."

Lupin barely suppressed a snicker.

"What brings you here, Hannah?" asked Lupin. "Has something happened to Draco?"

"Not exactly. It's just – it's his birthday in a week," explained Hannah, "and I want to get him something, but we're not allowed out of the castle."

"So you want a member of staff to go down with you?"

Hannah nodded. "I know roughly what I want to get, so I could give you the money if need be."

"I'll speak to Dumbledore and get you special permission to go down yourself with your head of house – Pomona Sprout, I believe?"

Hannah confirmed this with a nod. "Thanks, Professor Lupin." She glanced at Harry and Hermione. "Oh, I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

Hermione shook her head firmly. "We were actually going to come and find you in a minute anyway. It's to do with Narcissa Malfoy. Sirius has found where she _was_, but she's moved – or been moved – since. There's nothing more that can be done until the Easter holidays. I'm really not looking forward to telling Draco all this."

"You won't be allowed in to see him," Hannah informed them grimly, anxiously twisting a lock of her thick blonde hair around her finger. "He's developed some sort of chest infection – Madam Pomfrey either won't or can't tell me what it is – and he can't stop coughing and he's really having trouble breathing. She says that if anyone goes in to see him, there's a risk of him catching other infections, which will just make him worse than ever. She won't risk it."

"Are _you_ allowed in?" asked Harry curiously.

A red tinge appeared on Hannah's already naturally rosy cheeks, which had been paler than normal recently because of all the anxiety over Draco, combined with everything else that had been going on. "I am; it's just everyone else that's banned." She shook herself. "Pomfrey said that we're allowed to have a small birthday party for him next week – just us four – depending on how well he is. I really hope he is."

"I'll speak to Professor Dumbledore and Pomona," said Lupin. "And I'm sure he'll be well enough by then. I was really ill just before my eighteenth – bad dose of the flu when it was going round the school like wildfire."

"You were certainly ill _afterwards_," remarked Sirius slyly.

"I'm amazed that _you_, of all people, can remember anything at _all_!" retorted Lupin. "Poppy could smell the alcohol on you a mile off!"

"And she couldn't on you?" Sirius shot back. "At least James was sober enough to get us both up to the hospital wing."

"With Lily's help. And then she had to get _him_ seen to when _he _passed out. Probably from your weight." Lupin caught Sirius' eye and the two burst into howls of laughter, remembering what had clearly been a good night. The three seventh-years looked at each other and joined in at the images that were being created in their minds, Harry especially. Sirius had told him of the Marauders' exploits, but he definitely hadn't heard about Lupin's eighteenth birthday before. As the two adults continued to recount the tale, it became perfectly apparent just _how_ many people had got drunk that night. Laughing was good; it temporarily lifted the cloud of darkness, gloom and fear that had settled over the school.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

****

TBC

****

Author thanks:

Lucidity: I had great fun writing the Sirius/Severus sniping. I despair of Sirius ever growing up. I don't think he had done in some ways when JKR killed him off. As for Lucius, it's safe to say you haven't seen the last of him yet in this fic. Glad you're enjoying this! Ron doesn't really feature in this; he's not one of my favourite characters so I've left him out as much as possible. As this story progresses, you'll be seeing less and less of him.

CloudofDreams: Miss Bickley likes Green Day? That woman has seriously good taste in music. She does rock! She was fantastic when things were really bad, and I'm eternally grateful to her for it. Could you tell Miss Burgess that Lancaster public library has quite a few Restoration and post-Restoration plays? I've currently got out Vanbrugh's _The Provoked Wife_, and Wycherley's _The Country Wife_ and Congreve's _The Way of the World_ (which she knows well because it was the A-Level text she taught me!) in one book, as well as Farquhar's _The Beaux' Strategem_ and Goldsmith's _She Stoops to Conquer_ (the latter of which I saw in Year 13 and am currently reading).

I promise to lend you the PotC soundtrack if you want to come over to mine sometime during the Easter holidays. I can't send it to you over MSN because: a) we haven't got Internet connection in the house here in Lancaster, b) the computer back home isn't modern enough and doesn't have Media Player, and c) we haven't been able to open the CD drive for over a year (mainly because despite the numerous mentionings on the issue to my father, he, true to form, has never got around to doing anything about it. Hopefully we'll get a new one over Easter. That's been the mentioned plan, at any rate. If my mother takes charge, it'll get done. If it's left to my dad, it won't.

Not sure about the difference between apocalypse and armageddon. Perhaps you could look it up and inform me? Madam Pomfrey did not perhaps make the best decision in sending Draco down, but it was an emergency, to be fair to the woman. Plus Draco would volunteer to do it just to get out of the hospital wing for a while! He's bordering on cabin fever.

Heartsyhawk: essays are incredibly annoying things. I've got to start thinking about my next lot. And my next placement. Character accuracy is extremely important to me so I do my best to get it right.

A Monkey's Harp: oh, I agree that life can be incredibly hectic and stressful. Just review as and when you can; no pressure. There's apparently a big-screen version of _The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe_ coming out this summer. I'm convinced it won't be as good as the BBC's version from about 1990.

Dark Lady Arantraneth: (goes bright red from praise) Hannon le! Enjoy!

Samhaincat: I'm an OT-in-training; I support the use of creative activities. Writing is mine. I can just imagine Severus saying that being dead is no excuse for not handing an essay in on time! I was thinking of McGonagall's line in PoA just after the first Divination when she says to Harry about his homework that if he does die, "you need not hand it in" (or something like that).

Rebell: Dementors not good. Not good! You burned all the food, the shade, the – Oh whoops! Wrong story! The escape of the Dementors basically signifies that things are going to get a _lot_ worse. Draco is definitely bordering on cabin fever.

TinorialPeredhil (via e-mail because won't let you review): I know I'm cruel to Draco, but it's the best way to get people on his side because he gets lots of sympathy! It's all about the sympathy vote! I promise you that I don't write specifically for manic depressives; I just have a wide range of genres I'm interested in and am able to write well. I wouldn't like to be on the receiving end of Hermione's temper, believe you me! I will not comment on Sirius and Severus reach maturity; they could (finally) do so by the end, because it's not just Harry that's reaching maturity. Relax, relax; Sirius will be fine. In this fic at least, he's more than capable of producing a Patronus if need be.


	18. Birthday Party

Reaching Maturity

Disclaimer: not mine. Ditto for Narnia. Really. Honestly. Verstehen Sie?

****

A/N: yes, I do have all the Quidditch scores worked out. I may not be that good at maths, but I did manage this lot, and I checked it. So there. Oh, and I'm really not that good at writing Quidditch matches, so please be kind.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

Chapter 18: Birthday Party

The next day dawned bright and clear – perfect conditions for the Quidditch match. Due to the combined protests of Snape and Flitwick, Dumbledore abandoned the order from the Ministry and raised the goalposts back to their original height. The whole school was, naturally, out in full force, all dressed in either green or blue, their spirits instantly raised the moment they saw the raised goalposts. Everyone had thought that the ruling from the Ministry was ridiculous, and they took great heart from the sight that greeted them.

The match was fast, furious and dirty. Ravenclaw were determined to get revenge for the previous year's 430-20 massacre by Slytherin. Ravenclaw scored three times in a short space of time, before Slytherin swiftly pulled level. Both sides were committing numerous fouls on each other, and it wasn't long before Ravenclaw were awarded two penalties, both of which they scored. Slytherin were also awarded two penalties – one of which was saved spectacularly by the foot of the Ravenclaw Keeper, and the other of which the Slytherin Chaser missed by miles. Slytherin reacted to Ravenclaw's second penalty by going straight up the other end and scoring.

Hooch was soon prompted to call a time-out to separate a Ravenclaw Chaser and a Slytherin Chaser, who were involved in a mid-air fistfight.

The ten-minute break succeeded in cooling to worst of the heated atmosphere – temporarily. The match had barely restarted before a Ravenclaw Beater hit a Bludger directly at the Slytherin Keeper, who doubled over in agony. Hooch awarded Slytherin a penalty, which the Ravenclaw Keeper calmly saved. By this point, Bludgers were flying everywhere and players were deliberately barging into each other and knocking their opponents off-course. Hermione muttered in Harry's ear that it was worse than watching a Gryffindor-Slytherin match.

And then the Ravenclaw Seeker spotted a tiny glint of gold. She dived after it, and seconds later the match was over, the Golden Snitch firmly held in her grasp. Ravenclaw had won, 200-40, thus avenging the previous year's massacre.

Snape, Harry noticed, did _not _look happy at all. He rightly guessed that the Potions teacher was cursing Lucius Malfoy for depriving his team of their best Seeker – and Draco Malfoy _was _good, Harry knew. _Just not quite as good as me_. Snape would now be in an even fouler mood than usual for the rest of the term. Slytherin had now played all their matches and with Ravenclaw going into their final match – against Gryffindor – with more points than his House, Slytherin would _not _be taking the Quidditch Cup that year. There was no doubt that the Ravenclaws would bear the brunt of his wrath, suffering more than the Gryffindors for the time being.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

Hannah was granted permission to go to Hogsmeade with Professor Sprout to get Draco's birthday present. In between homework and revision for their NEWTs, she spent a lot of time with Harry and Hermione planning things for Draco's birthday.

On the day of the party, she was accosted on her way to the hospital wing by Justin Finch-Fletchley yet again. "What's the occasion?" he inquired coolly, his eyes scanning her.

"None of your business." She attempted to get past him, but he blocked her way.

"I don't think so, Hannah. Not until you tell me where you're going."

Hannah raised one eyebrow. "Oh, really? _Stupefy_." He fell to the floor, unconscious, and she stepped calmly over his still form, making her way briskly to the hospital wing, an inconspicuous bag on her back. Despite being several minutes late, Harry and Hermione had yet to arrive.

They came hurrying up ten minutes later, out of breath and struggling to keep hold of their parcels. "Filch…on prowl," Harry gasped out.

"Kept…hassling us," added Hermione, just as out of breath. "Then Peeves…threw things at us…" She scowled. "Shall we…go in? Apologies again."

"Accepted." Hannah pushed open the door to the hospital wing and poked her head in. Madam Pomfrey bustled up. "_There_ you are!" she exclaimed. "I was beginning to think you weren't coming!"

"Filch was on the prowl," Harry explained. "And given some of the stuff we've got, he'd accuse us of going to Hogsmeade or something."

"Come on in, then. Just a brief warning, though – go easy. Draco's still quite weak and this chest problem doesn't look like shifting at any point in the near future. And," she added, laying eyes on the parcels Harry and Hermione were carrying – food from the kitchens, courtesy of the house-elves – "I hope you haven't got any alcohol there. Remus Lupin's eighteenth still gives me nightmares. _How_ they got Muggle alcohol in here, I will _never_ know. And to think that he's a teacher now." She shook her head, a wry smile on her face.

"The strongest stuff we've got is lemonade," Hermione assured her as they went in. She knew better than to try to sneak forbidden items past Pomfrey. She seemed to have an internal detector for such things.

Draco was sitting, sketching, in a big armchair by a blazing fire, so focused on what he was doing that he did not notice the arrival of the others. Hannah went over to him first and tapped him on the shoulder. "Happy birthday!"

He looked up, startled. Recognising his visitors, his pale face broke into a grin. "Hannah! I was wondering what had happened to you. You never came yesterday." He hesitated. "I missed you."

"I was getting your party sorted," Hannah informed him. "Me, Harry and Hermione." She beckoned to the two Gryffindors to come over and they did so, depositing the food parcels on the table by Draco's chair.

"I suppose I should say something about being honoured or something," he commented in his old drawl to hide his disbelief. "Nobody's ever gone to this much trouble for me at school before – unless they're trying to get onto my good side."

All three caught the underlying tinge of loneliness and sadness in his voice, but knew him better than to comment on it; Draco loathed being pitied. "It's about time someone did, then," Hannah said brightly. "Harry and Hermione are on good terms with the house-elves in the kitchens, which is how we came by all these goodies." The three unwrapped the parcels – Winky had wrapped the food up to make it easier to carry, and also to hide it – and set out the food. There were sausage rolls and pasta salads, amongst a wide array of other things (healthy options, naturally; Hermione had been very firm about that) and also cakes of varying sorts.

"Don't go thinking there's any alcohol," Harry warned.

"I wasn't going to," retorted Draco. "Somehow I can't imagine Pomfrey permitting it."

"She won't." Two days ago, Harry had finally got the full tale of Lupin's eighteenth out of the DADA professor, and he recounted it now, for the benefit of the others, as they sat on the floor. The alcohol had been carefully gathered during the Christmas holidays of the boys' seventh year and smuggled back into the school in January courtesy of various shrinking spells. There were copious quantities of it – all the Gryffindor boys from the fourth year upwards had taken part with delighted glee.

During the party, all kinds of drunken antics had taken place. It had ended in the vast majority of those from the fourth year upwards being hauled up to the hospital wing at various points throughout the evening. Sirius and Lupin were dragged up by Harry's parents before Lily and one of her friends (both of whom were reasonably sober; Lily was Head Girl, after all) had to take James as well. Two boys – one seventh-year and one sixth-year – were found wandering the school grounds in a completely inebriated state, singing off-key, by McGonagall. She had deducted one hundred points from Gryffindor, and the house had lost the House Cup to Ravenclaw because of it.

This tale sent everyone into fits of laughter, during which Hermione choked on a crumbly biscuit and Draco was hit by a violent coughing fit. Harry banged Hermione hard on her back in an attempt to help, and Hannah went for some water.

Draco eventually stopped coughing and leaned back against his chair. He was white and shaking, tears that had been brought on by the coughing streaming down his face. He was struggling to breathe, and his three friends exchanged alarmed looks. Pomfrey was _sure_ to ban them now, if she found out about this!

Within a few minutes, he had recovered, the wheezing now only slight. "I'm _fine_," he insisted. "I'll be OK. Tell me about the Quidditch. A certain person refused to even let me get out of bed that day, so I missed the whole match."

Harry immediately began telling him about the match, move by move, and the two boys quickly descended into discussing complicated tactics that the girls, who preferred to watch from the stands, did not understand. Hermione caught Hannah's eye, and the Hufflepuff nodded at her. Hermione cleared her throat. "Much as I hate to interrupt tactical discussions," she cut in, her tone suggesting that she was not sorry in the slightest, "there are one or two small pieces of business we need to attend to before Pomfrey kicks us three out."

The boys briefly glared at her, Harry as puzzled as Draco until he caught Hermione's eye. She nodded at him and pulled a box-shaped parcel out of her bag, handing it to Draco. "Open it," she ordered. "It's from me and Harry."

Within seconds, the birthday present was unwrapped, revealing a boxed gift set of all the _Narnia_ books. Draco stared at them, eyes wide, and looked up at the two Gryffindors. "Why…?"

"Because you said you didn't have your own copy of any of them," Hermione replied. "So I spoke to Harry about it and then owled my parents, who were able to get hold of the set."

"But you shouldn't have…"

"Nonsense. It's your birthday and we're your friends," Hermione retorted. "It's what friends do – give each other presents on their birthdays."

"I wouldn't know," Draco muttered. He fingered the books for a moment before carefully stretching up and placing them, still in their box, on the table. He bit his lip hard to force back the rising emotions. "Thanks," he eventually whispered. "I – I really appreciate this." He hesitantly reached out and awkwardly hugged Hermione. She returned it, surprised but touched. Draco Malfoy was generally not a hugging person, and nor was he one to show his emotions so blatantly.

It was only short, and he was quick to pull away, but all four knew that any past differences between Hermione and Draco were just that – the past. The gesture had sealed their friendship.

Draco turned to Harry. "Thanks." He shook the hand Harry offered him, smiling.

Hannah cleared her throat to get Draco's attention, and handed him a rectangular, flat object. Draco eyed her quizzically and she pushed the item, neatly wrapped, into his hands. "Open it, then!" she said impatiently.

He obediently did so, and gasped. "_Wow_, Hannah! These are _brilliant_!" He stared at the watercolour paint-box in awe – they were Automatic Refill paints, which meant that he would not have to buy another box of watercolours for a long time. Putting the box down by the Narnia books, he reached out to Hannah. This hug lasted considerably longer than the one with Hermione had done, and when they broke away, Hannah's arm remained protectively around his shoulder.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

The next event to occur happened in Potions. Snape had given them clear instructions on how to brew a wound-sealing potion and had even written them on the boards. The students were working individually for once. "This is a very useful potion – one you would do well to keep in your home at all times in case of an accident."

He began moving between desks, occasionally passing on instructions and correcting students. "This is a relatively simple potion; I should not really need to correct you," he said scathingly before Dean put the wrong ingredient in his cauldron.

The head of Slytherin stopped and sniffed the air, frowning. "There should be no burning smell in here," he said slowly. "Who has done this inaccurately?" His dark eyes scanned the room, finally settling on two cauldrons next to each other in the Slytherins' half of the room. "Miss Parkinson…and Miss Bulstrode. Well, well. What a surprise," he said, upper lip curling. "Even Potter appears to be making a reasonably competent job of this potion. You put your house to shame." He turned his icy gaze on the two. "Get out of this class and don't bother coming back. I have had _enough _of you two! _How_ you achieved an O in your OWL exam is _completely_ beyond me. Now get _out_!"

The entire class had stopped working to watch the scene and Snape whirled on them now. "Well? What are you all staring at? Do you not have potions to make?"

The class immediately busied themselves with their potions once again, not wishing to bring Snape's wrath down on them. Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode slipped quietly out of the room, unaware of Snape's furious and vicious glare boring into their backs.

He let the class talk amongst themselves as he occasionally did with seventh-years, while he went over to talk to Harry and Hermione. "I understand you had a small birthday party for Mr. Malfoy," he said quietly to prevent the other students from overhearing. There was no danger of Ron doing so; he was working by Dean after going off in a huff when Harry and Hermione had disappeared on Saturday. He was refusing to speak to them.

"We did," Hermione confirmed. "I think he really enjoyed it. He's a decent person underneath that arrogant attitude of his."

"Is that so surprising?" asked Snape softly. "He has been brought up to be so, to hold certain beliefs, and he is expected to be a certain way. The attitude is his protection from the pain the outside world inflicts on him. I'm glad to see that you two and Miss Abbott have become good friends with him, and he's going to be needing you a lot. I am relying on you to not let him down. You will suffer if you deliberately hurt him."

"We wouldn't even dream of it!" retorted Harry." He's our friend now. We won't fail him. That's a promise, sir."

"Good." Snape turned and swept off.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

****

TBC

A/N: before anyone has a go at me about grammar for, "It's from me and Harry", think about it – if you took away the "and Harry" bit, you would say, "It's from me". You would not say, "It's from I". So don't complain. As far as I've been taught, this is the correct way. If you don't like it, tough.

****

Author thanks:

Lucidity: as Draco and Harry are the two main characters, the focus switches between the two, rather than like in The Two Towers where the whole of Book 3 is focused solely on Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas and then the whole of Book 4 is focused solely on Frodo and Sam. What's wrong with Sprout? Do you have a problem with her? Remember that she is Hannah's head-of-house, and therefore chose Hannah to be a prefect.

Riob: I won't comment on the Draco/Hannah ship because you know how much I love this pairing. Harry/Hermione is deliberately not-so-subtle now, although they're fairly discreet about it. I imagine Lupin and Pomfrey will have picked up on it by now; nothing much gets past them! Ginny in all likelihood has as well, but she's not really in this story enough; she's not a very significant player. I know I'm being cruel to Draco, but then, when you've got one problem it tends to leave you vulnerable to a whole host of other things. And sleeping in the Great Hall can't have helped. Severus does have a hugely significant, if very understated (because Harry isn't really aware of it) role in the books, and I'm trying to carry that notion into this fic.

TinorialPeredhil: YAY! It let you in! I had to have _someone_ get hauled up for not paying attention; Justin was perfect for the role because of the way I've been writing him. And Parvati is just the sort to get done for having nail varnish on in lessons. It took me a while to work out all the times for the exams, but it's just the sort of thing McGonagall would do to strike fear and panic into the hearts of students to get them revising! Hannah wouldn't use the Cloak; the risk with the Dementors, in her eyes, would be too great. Plus she doesn't know whether the teachers will say no at this point.

Glad the Harry/Hermione hints are getting through to people! There's more stuff that I'm not saying on this matter because I'm leaving it up to my readers to fill in the gaps (no, nothing sordid!) A story like this needs humour in it because the rest is so dark. Plus I can just imagine that sort of thing happening where Snape is concerned!

CloudofDreams: hey, they need _some_ fun, to lighten the otherwise horrifically dark world in which they're currently living. Glad to see you're picking up on the romance hints; they're not meant to be subtle any more! I agree with you that Rupert Grint is a great actor. I know of a couple of very well-written stories that give Snape a love interest – such as Samhaincat's _Solstice II_. Alan Rickman is a fantastic and highly underrated/underacknowledged actor. Maggie Smith is fantastic as well, I agree. McGonagall reminds me of Ms Haworth (check your spelling of her name; she goes _mental_ if you put the 'o' before the 'a'!) I'm not commenting on the outcome for Snape. Which CDs do you plan to lend me, then? And I don't break up till the 24th (officially) but my last lecture is on the Monday (21st) so hopefully I'll be home on the Tuesday.

Samhaincat: Sirius is popping up and disappearing again on a regular basis in this. He's more likeable in this fic than I now view him to be because this was originally written before OotP came out and there are only so many adjustments I could make. Harry understands Draco a lot more now and can see how narrow and inflexible Ron's way of thinking is; Ron tends to see things much more in black and white, whereas other characters see things in shades of grey.

Rebell: nope; Draco _doesn't_ get a break! (blushes from praise) Draco's birthday is in this chapter. And Hannah _rocks_.

Dark Lady Arantraneth: I'm happy as long as my readers enjoy the story!


	19. Easter Holidays

Reaching Maturity

Disclaimer: not mine. Ditto for Narnia. Really. Honestly. Verstehen Sie?

****

A/N: yes, I do have all the Quidditch scores worked out. I may not be that good at maths, but I did manage this lot, and I checked it. So there. Oh, and I'm really not that good at writing Quidditch matches, so please be kind.

Only a week till the end of term! Not that I've heard from my placement yet. I'm starting to get a little worried…

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

Chapter 19: Easter Holidays

Before they knew it, Easter was upon them. The vast majority of students went home to spend time with their families, looking forward gleefully to two glorious weeks of sleeping in proper beds rather than in sleeping bags on camp beds in the Great Hall. A large proportion of OWL and NEWT students opted to stay at the school, as their exams would be upon them far sooner than they wanted.

Draco received a letter from his father, ordering him to stay at Hogwarts as he would be 'away' for the duration of the holiday. When Pomfrey heard of this, she briskly informed him that he was far too ill to travel all the way to Wiltshire and back again anyway.

Hermione managed to annoy Ron and Harry immensely by drawing up strict, detailed revision timetables for them – "as though we haven't been doing enough already," grumbled Ron, before announcing that he was going home for the ten days. Hermione would never know whether he stuck to the timetable or not. In any case, he had taken to spending most of his time with the other Gryffindor boys and Parvati rather than Harry and Hermione, and it was becoming more and more apparent that the three were drifting apart. He never even said goodbye to them when he left; Harry and Hermione were up in the hospital wing with Hannah and Draco.

The two girls were watching the boys play chess – a long, laborious process, partly because Harry was exceptionally bad at the game and also because Draco tired extremely easily. Eventually Harry found himself checkmated.

"I can't believe I've beaten you in the state I'm in," said Draco dazedly.

"You _are_ aware that it's not exactly hard to beat Harry?" said Hermione teasingly, catching Harry's eye and grinning at him. This earned her a playful shove from him, causing her to fall off the bed with a small shriek. Harry offered her a hand up and she grasped it, but before she could use him as leverage, she glanced up to see McGonagall standing there. She did not let go of Harry's hand. "Professor?"

McGonagall took in the scene with a wryly amused smile. "Well, it's nice to see some of you are enjoying yourselves," she remarked lightly. "Mind if I sit down?"

"Of course not." Hannah stood up to let the teacher sit down.

She sat. "Professors Dumbledore, Snape and myself, along with all your subject teachers, have been reviewing your schoolwork and health from this term, Mr. Malfoy. We think that you _should_ be able to sit your NEWTs, and that you should be permitted extra time to take the exams as Muggle schools do under certain circumstances, because you tire very easily. If you need a break partway through, or feel it is too much for you, you would be able to stop. It would mean sitting your exams in a separate room from the rest of the students, but it _would_ enable you to sit the exams. There is also the option of remaining at Hogwarts for another year and joining the current sixth year, and sitting your exams with them. Do you want some time to think it over?"

Draco shook his blond head. "No. I don't need the time. I want to sit my exams with the rest of my year. When else would I be able to?"

"You _could_ stay here for another year and redo your seventh year; it's not unheard of…" Her eyes twinkled as she took in the look of complete and utter horror on Draco's face. "I thought not."

He shrugged. "I don't want to stay behind after my three friends have left!"

McGonagall nodded, smiling, and got to her feet. "Take care now, Mr. Malfoy, and I'll see you at dinner – if Poppy lets you out, of course."

He snorted. "I wish. I can't even walk to the other end of the _ward_ without having to stop halfway to rest and get my breath back. I was under the impression that fresh air was supposed to be good for you, but I'm not allowed out to see whether it's true or not." He coughed.

"Give it time," advised McGonagall. "The fever may have gone and you're not coughing anywhere near as much as you were, but you're too delicate to risk further illness yet."

"I'm not _'delicate'_," he muttered irritably. He watched her go and then turned to the others. "Do you think I'm stupid, saying I'll do my NEWTs this year? After all, think about what the 'E' stands for." There was a genuine expression of worry on his face.

Hannah squeezed his hand comfortingly. "Remember McGonagall said you'd get extra time? It's really useful."

He gave her a weak smile. "I suppose so…" He was more than aware of the fact that her soft, warm hand remained closed over his, and he realised that he rather liked the feeling. A wave of sudden fatigue swept over him and he leaned back against the pillows, only half in control of his movements.

"Draco? Are you OK?" asked Hannah worriedly, seeing his already white face drain entirely of what little colour it had had in it.

He nodded briefly. "Just really tired."

"We'll go, then," decided Hermione, grasping Harry's hand and giving it a firm tug. "We'll be up later. Revision and all that." She practically dragged him out of the room, with him unable to break her vice-like grip on his hand – not that he tried _too_ hard, it has to be said.

When they were a sufficient distance from the hospital wing and any intrigued ears, he wrestled free. "What was that for?" he demanded, rubbing his hand and glaring at her.

"I'm letting them have some time together _alone_," said Hermione, stressing the last word.

"Wha – _Oh_! No! No _way_! Malfoy and _Hannah_!" He stared at her in disbelief. "No way!"

But Hermione merely nodded sagely. "_Yes_, way," she contradicted with a knowing smile. "I'm just not sure they've admitted it to each other yet. It's sweet. I'm just itching to give them a shove."

"Like you did with me and Cho the second time?"

"Exactly. Mind you, though, who'd've guessed at Hallowe'en that she was two-timing you with Anthony Goldstein?" She scowled; that had been the end of _her _romance. _Perhaps it's best that the Head Boy and Girl **aren't** romantically entangled; it makes for a far easier working relationship if they aren't_.

"Who indeed," muttered Harry darkly. It had been just after Hallowe'en that he had vowed never to see Cho Chang again. She had been seen in Hogsmeade with Anthony Goldstein and they had been kissing very intimately and with a lot of passion, in public. Harry had angrily owled her to tell her to not bother contacting him ever again. And that had been that. Hermione, he reflected, had been brilliant afterwards.

Turning to the girl he cared about more than anyone else, he grabbed her hand and started leading her down the corridor. "Come on. Let's go and talk to Hagrid and see if he's got any more…_creatures_ that he needs help with."

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

After Harry and Hermione had gone, Hannah turned back to Draco. "You're not OK, are you?" she asked bluntly. "And don't lie. I can tell when you do; you look away from the person you're talking to and up at the ceiling."

"I – I'll be fine in a minute," he answered, his breathing harsh and loud as he fought for breath, as he lay back.

Hannah watched him struggle, getting more and more agitated as he made no signs of recovery. Abruptly she got to her feet. "I'm getting Madam Pomfrey," she declared, hurrying off. Moments later the mediwitch was at Draco's side, helping him to lean forward in an attempt to regain his breath. Eventually he did, and she gently eased him back against the pillows in an upright position. "I'll warrant you overdid it this morning," she remarked. "Hannah, maybe you should go, let him rest."

"No!" protested Draco. "Please – please let her stay. I want her to stay."

"I don't know…" Pomfrey began dubiously.

"I won't get him worked up, honest," Hannah promised. "I can just sit here and revise." She and Draco both turned pleading eyes on her.

Pomfrey threw up her hands in defeat. "Oh, go on, then. But _be good_." She disappeared back into her office.

Draco was now breathing fairly normally again, but Hannah anxiously observed the way he still struggled slightly. "Maybe – maybe you _should _do your NEWTs next year," she suggested hesitantly. "Unless you make a sudden dramatic turnaround – which I somehow doubt – it's going to take you all day to do just one exam!"

"I _could_ make a 'sudden dramatic turnaround', as you put it!" he retorted. His grey eyes, though, were sad and unbelieving. He knew it wouldn't happen. "Look, I don't know why you're sitting up here inside when it's so nice inside."

Hannah stared at him. "And leave you here on your own? No chance. Besides, I _want_ to be with you." She stood up and wandered to the window. She spotted three younger students chasing each other in what quickly became apparent as a game of Tag. It would be a long time before Draco would be able to do that again, she reflected sadly. As he had told McGonagall, he wasn't even able to make it to the end of the ward without needing to rest. This saddened her deeply, but she vowed to herself that she wouldn't give up on him, wouldn't let him give in. She promised that she would be there for him, even if it took him twenty years to recover. Even if he _never_ recovered. She was too involved with him and cared too deeply about him to walk away now. There was some charm about him that had been hidden for six years under his old attitude, and it had bewitched her.

She made a snap decision. "Let's go outside."

He stared at her. "But Madam Pomfrey…"

"Forget about it. I'll clear it."

"Oh, you will, will you?" Madam Pomfrey inquired archly from behind her.

Hannah started; she hadn't heard the mediwitch come up behind her. She turned round to face her. "Can we just see how he gets on?" She gave Pomfrey a beseeching look. "You never know; he might get better quicker."

"'More quickly'," Pomfrey corrected.

"Surely there can't be any harm in it?" chimed in Draco. "I haven't left this ward for _three months_ apart from a couple of days. Cabin fever, don't they call it?"

"I'll look after him," added Hannah hurriedly.

"I promise I'll make sure I don't get cold," wheedled Draco, pulling the sleeves of his jumper down so his wrists were covered. "I'll wrap up really, really warmly…"

Madam Pomfrey felt the corners of her mouth twitching. "Oh, go on, then," she relented. "Seeing as you'll beg and plead with me until I give in. See that you _don't_ get cold, though, Mr. Malfoy."

"Thank you!" the two chorused gleefully, and scuttled out of the hospital wing before Pomfrey could change her mind. Hannah slipped her arm around Draco's waist to support him once they got out of the door, and had to fight to hide her alarm at how thin he had become. Draco leaned against her as they ambled down the corridor together at a relaxed, slow pace. He suspected that support wasn't the _only _reason that Hannah's arm was around his waist, and, if he was honest with himself, he liked it. A lot. It was a very pleasant change to have Hannah's firm, yet gentle and supportive, arm around him instead of Pansy's uncomfortable, stiff, vice-like grip.

They reached the Entrance Hall. "I'll meet you here when you've got all your winter outdoor things," Hannah said. "And for goodness' sake don't forget anything, or Pomfrey will kill me!"

"Yes, Mum," said Draco teasingly, saluting her and earning a light slap in the shoulder from her. "Ouch!"

"Wimp," she shot back, blue eyes glittering with laughter. She began walking in the direction of the Hufflepuff quarters. "Get a move on!"

He obligingly did, taking his time to get to Slytherin so as not to tire himself out. When he rejoined Hannah, they walked out into the grounds.

From his office high up in the castle, Dumbledore watched Hannah carefully straighten Draco's hat and slip her arm back round his waist. He leaned into her and said something that made her toss her thick blonde hair over her shoulder as she laughed. They sat down on the wall that Hannah had kicked in frustration back in February. Unseen by the couple, Dumbledore smiled down on them as the immersed themselves in a deep discussion – about what, he would never know. He observed Draco take Hannah's hand in his thin one. They were a good match in his view. She would take care of him and make sure he took care of himself, and keep him from turning to Voldemort. He would teach her what he knew of the Dark Arts – with Lucius Malfoy as a father, that was a lot – so she could protect herself as much as possible.

He let his thoughts turn to one member of his staff and the archrival of said staff member, carrying out their mission far from Hogwarts. That was not nearly as pleasant.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

"Where the hell are we?" Sirius grumbled that evening as he and Severus Snape sat by the campfire that Sirius had made. Although he had a cloak around his shoulders, he was still quite chilly. The tent wasn't much warmer. Sirius Black did not like camping, and never had done.

Snape glared at him. "I can hardly tell _you_."

"Oh?" Sirius bit into an apple.

"Not that many Death Eaters – or ex-Death Eaters – know of the existence of this place," Snape informed him coldly. "To be honest with you, I'm not sure of its _exact_ location."

Sirius stared at him in disbelief. "Then how do you know whether we're anywhere near it, camping here?"

"I know _roughly_ where it is, Black. I know it's in this area." Snape's brusque tone indicated that the conversation was over.

Sirius stood up. "I'm going to sleep. I'll become Padfoot and keep one ear alert so we can both sleep. Lack of sleep makes a person bad-tempered, and you're grouchy enough as it is." Upon receiving a furious glare from Snape, he hurriedly transformed into the big black dog and trotted into the tent. Snape cleared up the campsite as much as he could and made sure the fire was completely out, before retiring himself. Sirius, as promised, kept one ear open.

Both slept well, and they woke after a night completely devoid of anything other than the usual nocturnal activities of various creatures. Sirius' thoughts soon turned to his stomach and he inquired about what was for breakfast when Snape emerged from the tent.

"Not much," answered the Potions Master briefly. "Bread that we could toast over the fire if we want, some fruit – and someone must have put some sausages in."

Sirius grinned. "Sausage sandwiches. Sounds good." He built the fire up and Snape lit it. The wood was dry and ignited quickly, so Sirius turned to Snape. "So, are we going to be finding this place today?"

"No; we're skydiving off the Statue of Liberty in the US," Snape replied scathingly.

"That sounds like fun. What time are we booked in to do it?" quipped Sirius, knowing full well that Snape was being sarcastic. He loved opportunities to annoy his old victim, and this effort earned him a withering look from the teacher.

They ate in silence. When they had finished, they packed everything up carefully and Snape made absolutely certain that no trace of their ever having been there remained, Sirius grabbed another apple – his third that morning so far – and the two set off walking through woods and across fields.

"You _do_ know where we're going, don't you?" asked Sirius after a while. "Only, I don't see anything except a derelict farmhouse in the middle of that field." He pointed to the aforementioned building in the field directly ahead of them as they emerged form the trees. Snape immediately stopped and Sirius walked straight into him. "Watch where you're going, Snivelly!"

"_Quiet_!" hissed Snape. "_That_ is where we're headed. The old Death Eater safe-house. You need to change into your wretched dog shape. If you don't, we're both dead. Or worse."

Sirius mumbled a few obscenities under his breath, but obeyed Snape nonetheless. He waited behind Snape as the teacher examined a map, not unlike the Marauder's Map. Not that Snape had ever worked out how to use _that_ one.

"Come on, Black. It's safe," muttered Snape. With the rucksack on his back, hiking boots on his feet, dressed in Muggle clothes and long black hair pulled back into a ponytail, he looked like nothing more than a lone hiker out with his dog.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

TBC

****

author thanks:

Lucidity: here's quite a bit of Snape to keep you happy (I hope)! He loves veiled threats; people like Crabbe and Goyle probably wouldn't have the faintest idea that there _was_ a threat! I think Sprout _could _hold her own against Death Eaters if necessary. She's the sort of person who really doesn't want to do so if at all possible. Glad you liked the birthday. Whether or not Ron forgives Harry and Hermione remains to be seen – although perhaps this chapter gives you something of an indication one way or the other.

CloudofDreams: I had to have them get him thoughtful presents; I hate it when really good friends who know you well just get you bath stuff (which I never use). I contemplated doing a running commentary on the Quidditch, but I couldn't be bothered and it was easier to describe it. Also, it wasn't the main focus of the chapter. I agree with you about Ravenclaw – but when it comes to Quidditch, that all goes _completely_ out of the window! Plus remember they wanted revenge… I could see Lupin's 18th happening like that really clearly so I _had_ to write it in! As for what's to come, you'll just have to wait and see.

Jmmy: I can't be 100 cruel and 0 nice to Draco; it's not fair on him and the poor guy does need a break from all that torment _sometimes_! It's reached the point where relationships need to be a lot clearer. Plus I was sick of them not really acknowledging stuff like that so I thought I'd do something about it! As the author, I have absolute power over them! (cackles evilly) I thought the Lupin's party would amuse you all!

A Monkey's Harp: The Ravenclaws aren't as goody-goody as people tend to think – certainly not when House pride is at stake! I've been there and seen it all; WCHS round House Drama and Sports Day is incredibly competitive. I'll check out the grammar thing. I'm a grammar obsessive too. And punctuation. And spelling. And formatting…

Samhaincat: I thought it was about time there was something sweet and fluffy, given all the traumas recently! Hermione still strikes me as fairly willing to forgive if she truly believes the person to be completely genuine. I like protective Snape too!

Rebell: Snape has feelings! He's just really bad at showing them (lots of psychological issues there that I'm not going into) and also it wouldn't fit with the whole really-scary-teacher image. For Quidditch, I'd be a Chaser or Keeper. My best positions in netball are Goal Keeper and Goal Shooter (which is extremely impressive for someone with aim as bad as mine!). I don't have the upper-arm strength to be a Beater. And go Hannah indeed!

TinorialPeredhil: Ravenclaw want revenge on Slytherin for well and truly stuffing them the previous year, remember! Hence the match resembling a Gryffindor-Slytherin match! And I thought I'd put this match in because JK never really writes scenes with Harry watching matches. Hannah won't kill Justin; she's too nice for that. I know I'm cruel to Draco, but it keeps the sympathy pouring in and I want to get my readers on his side! I'm contemplating doing a spin-off from this of Lupin's 18th; it has definite comic potential. Regarding the Draco-Hermione hug – I wanted something sweet and I wanted them to put the past behind them. So I wrote that part. I suspect Snape would quite happily bore holes into the backs of the vast majority of the wizarding world! Sounds like you've had a lot on; perfectly understandable! With Hannah, I suppose you'd write her HA or Ha.


	20. Outcome of an Excursion

Reaching Maturity

Disclaimer: not mine. Ditto for Narnia. Really. Honestly. Verstehen Sie?

****

A/N: yes, I do have all the Quidditch scores worked out. I may not be that good at maths, but I did manage this lot, and I checked it. So there. Oh, and I'm really not that good at writing Quidditch matches, so please be kind.

****

A/N 2: as this is essentially AU, I'm taking this opportunity to state that in this universe, Lucius Malfoy did _not _recognise Sirius for what he is at King's Cross.

Easter holidays from 3.30pm on Monday! YAY!

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

Chapter 20: Outcome of an Excursion

Hannah walked confidently into the hospital wing and up to Madam Pomfrey. "How's Draco?"

"More than ready to go. This is the first night he's had a solid night's sleep without either waking up or having any nightmares," Pomfrey informed her with a smile. "Still not much of an appetite so he's not eating much, but it's a start. Go on; get him out of my hair. Now he's brightened he's started to drive me up the wall!"

Hannah grinned at her and went to find Draco, who was, once again, sketching. It appeared to be his favourite occupation. When Hannah approached, he hurriedly slammed it shut. "Are we going out?" he asked, grabbing his cloak when she nodded.

"Don't forget your scarf –"

"Gloves, hat, I know, I know," he cut in impatiently, rolling his eyes. "I already got that lecture from Pomfrey. Has she put you up to this?" He eyed her suspiciously.

Hannah shook her head violently, her high bunches hitting her in the face. "No. I'm doing it because I care a lot about you and want you to get better. She told me to get you out of her hair." She reached up and straightened his hat, as she had done the previous day. "Come on; let's go."

As the previous day, it was a slow journey, with Draco stopping several times to rest and get his breath back. Eventually they got outside and went to sit down by the lake to revise. They weren't the only ones there – some fifth-year Ravenclaws were showing off about how much their knowledge of Potions was. One boy was reciting the procedure for a potion. "…add the porcupine quills five minutes before the rose petals –"

"That's five minutes _after _the rose petals," Draco corrected, cutting in sharply. "And what about quantities of the ingredients? What mass of rose petals? What mass of porcupine quills?"

The fifth-year stared at him in disdain. "_Before_ the porcupine quills. And who the hell do you think you are – Oh. You're a _Malfoy_. Should've known you'd try to humiliate me in front of my friends by showing off. Shame you don't listen in Potions." He marched over to Draco and shoved his notebook under the Slytherin's nose. "I wrote it down _in Snape's lesson_ – when he was talking about it."

Draco arched one eyebrow in an uncanny resemblance to Snape. "It would appear that you haven't been paying attention in lessons," he replied calmly. He nodded at something just behind the fifth-year and the younger boy spun round, coming face-to-face with McGonagall, who regarded him mildly.

"P-P-Professor," he spluttered. "I – I didn't see you there."

"_That_ is perfectly obvious," replied McGonagall drily. "Ten points from Ravenclaw for not paying attention in lessons. Mr. Malfoy is correct in informing you that it is _after _the porcupine quills. If you were to add them _before _the rose petals, all your hair would fall out and your skin would turn scarlet for about a month." She turned swiftly on her heel and strode briskly off. The fifth-year glared at Draco, who shrugged, and, picking up his books, turned to his friends. "Let's get away from the Death Eater's son. He might murder us if we stay here too long." A sneer distorted his face.

Hannah reached out and grabbed his arm warningly. "Don't," she cautioned. "You'll only aggravate the situation." She narrowed her eyes at the Ravenclaw and, wand out, muttered the Leg-Locker Curse so quietly that not even Draco could hear her properly.

The Ravenclaw stumbled and fell to the ground, flat on his face. His friends laughed at him. Rolling himself onto his back and forcing himself into a sitting position, he glared at Draco. "I am going to _get_ you for that, Malfoy!" he snarled furiously.

"But it wasn't me!" protested Draco, bewildered.

"I'd watch your backs if I were you," said Hannah, smiling sweetly at them. "Constant vigilance." She released the boy from the hex and the four fifth-years scuttled off, scared. Her wand was pocketed with a flourish.

"_You _did that!" asked Draco, astounded.

"I did. It comes from hanging out with a very cunning, smart person."

"You think flattery will get you anywhere!"

"I don't _think_; I _know_," she replied smugly.

"What happened to the sweet, innocent Hannah I used to know?" teased Draco.

"Oh, I'm still her. I just happened to have learned a few things since." She winked at him.

Draco sobered. "There's a lot you still _haven't_ learned, though. Things you _need_ to know, in case – in case you're ever in danger."

"I don't get you."

Draco glanced down at his hands, then turned his steel-grey eyes onto her, staring intensely into her blue eyes. "The Dark Lord. The Death Eaters. My father."

"Why? What's your father got to do with anything? I mean, I know he's a Death Eater, but…"

Draco ran his fingers through his blond hair, a clear sign that he was nervous and stressed. When he spoke, his voice was tinged with fear and worry. He'd forgotten just how much Hannah _didn't_ know. "I have three friends. One – Hermione – will be targeted because she's Muggleborn. Another – Harry – well, that's pretty obvious. And the other – you – because you've got a Muggle grandmother and therefore aren't pureblood. And you're a Hufflepuff. And you're all fighting for Dumbledore; that's reason enough, even without anything else."

"You are as well, aren't you? Fighting for Dumbledore, I mean."

Draco nodded. "Which is why I'm a prime target. I'm not sure if my father's realised that I won't be joining him on the Dark Side, that I'll be going against him – maybe even fighting him personally. _Probably_, knowing my luck."

He gripped her wrists tightly, eyes burning into hers. "We don't know how much longer it'll be before the Dark Lord mounts an attack on the school. He may already have sources inside the school. Moles, if you will. And if we're not prepared enough, you can kiss life goodbye. You need to know a lot more about the Dark Arts than you do at the moment. Lupin and Figg can teach us so much, but they can't prepare you for the power of language or voice – mind manipulation, to sound posh. I know how the mind of a Death Eater works; I grew up with one, after all. Shields and defensive magic can only do so much. The trouble with defence is that it only holds back the attack; it doesn't destroy it. It can only be destroyed by turning defence into attack, and I don't know how willing Dumbledore and his followers are to resort to darker stuff." Speech ended, he released her wrists and moved away from her.

"You've really been thinking about this, haven't you?"

He shrugged wearily. "I s'pose being holed up in the hospital wing does that to you. I have more than enough time to just sit and think about things. I know how my father's evil mind works, and I'm far from stupid. Plus I'm a Slytherin. 'Know thy enemy' and all that. It's not really that difficult to work out if you have the time." He leaned against her, not bothering to hide his exhaustion, thin, pale hands idly playing with the ends of his green and silver scarf.

Hannah gazed out over the calm lake, deep in thought. She hadn't really understood before about just how much danger Draco was putting himself in by defying his father. Now she was getting a much better sense of it, although she could never truly understand, as she had never been in a situation like that. It amazed her that, despite all this, he was still determined to fight for what he believed to be right. She couldn't help but respect and admire him greatly.

She wondered how he'd react to the notion that this kind of action could see him being mistaken for a Gryffindor, but then caught herself. No other student could even come close to his sharp mind and shrewd, calculating nature that were Slytherin qualities. _Well, perhaps not the part about the 'sharp mind'_, she thought wryly, images of Crabbe and Goyle popping into her mind. No matter what was to happen to him in the future, she was convinced that he would always manage to survive, probably through some ridiculous means. She laughed quietly to herself.

"What's so amusing?"

Draco's voice snapped her out of her thoughts, and she smiled. "I was just thinking of all the possible ways you might wriggle out of dangerous situations."

"Ah. I see. That rather depends on whether _you're_ in danger," he told her seriously. "Or Harry. Or Hermione. If it comes down to either me or one of you, if I had to die to save you, I would. Especially you." That intense, earnest gaze again. He took her hand gently. "That's a promise."

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

Snape swore loudly as he tripped, entering the building that Sirius perceived as a roofless, derelict, half-burnt old farmhouse partly covered in ivy. Snape, however, saw a blackened, imposing, two-storey stone building whose windows glared down at the intruders. He shivered involuntarily. This place held dark memories for him. He was abruptly snapped out of his morbid thoughts by Sirius in his Animagus form nudging his hand with a wet nose. The former Azkaban prisoner gave him a questioning look.

"I think it's empty," muttered Snape, raising his wand. "_Lumos_."

Silently the two explored the rooms in the house, Sirius making the most of his heightened sense of smell. Now he was inside the building, he saw what Snape saw it was just Muggles that would still perceive it as an abandoned, slowly collapsing farmhouse. The search was intense, thorough, but they found absolutely nothing, either upstairs or downstairs. Defeated, they departed the building – with great relief, it must be said – and slipped, wraithlike, into the safe cover of the woodland. Once there, Sirius transformed. "No luck?"

"They _were_ here, I'm _sure_ of it," growled Snape. "Could you sense anything?"

"I picked up a few scents, including Narcissa's, but I couldn't tell how long ago the people were there."

"Something feels wrong about all of this."

"How do you mean?"

"I don't _know_!" Snape angrily kicked a stone out of his way as they walked. "I wish I did. I know I'm not one for going with intuition, but the atmosphere in that place…" He glanced back in the general direction of the house as he spoke about it. "I wish I had a Perception Potion. That way I could tell."

"What if you were to go back to Hogwarts, make one and then come back?" suggested Sirius, ducking under a low tree branch.

Snape shook his head firmly. "That is not possible. I wasn't involved in the setting up of the safe-houses, so I don't know what sort of security measures were placed around them. It is more than likely that they already know of my visit here."

Sirius looked alarmed. "Do you think my identity will be discovered?"

"No. You will have been perceived as a dog and nothing more. So it is not exactly infallible security."

Sirius breathed a sigh of relief. They walked on in tense silence for a few more minutes – until they were out of range of any detection spells that could have been put in place – and Apparated back to Hogsmeade. Sirius, back in his Animagus form, trotted alongside the Potions Master as they made their way back up to the school to be met by Lupin in the Entrance Hall. "Any luck?" the werewolf inquired.

"No," answered Snape briskly. "Get hold of Potter and Granger and bring them up to Dumbledore's office."

Lupin obligingly did so, and a few minutes later they were all eating hot teacakes and drinking tea in the headmaster's office. When everyone was settled, Dumbledore turned to Snape, who was standing, tensed, in a corner. "I understand you had no luck, Severus?"

"None at all. But we do know that Narcissa Malfoy was there, along with some others, presumably her captors," Snape informed them. "There was a strange feel to the place. It felt…hostile. Tense. Malicious. Mocking."

"Better get Trelawney down from that tower of hers, then," commented Lupin lightly.

Snape snorted scornfully. "I would rather _not_ get her involved, if you don't mind."

"I am wondering if perhaps Narcissa is not as helpless as we assume her to be?" mused Dumbledore, interrupting the two before the squabble could escalate.

"It is possible," said Snape. "All we can be certain of is that Narcissa was there at some point and is not there now. And that there is something wrong with this whole situation."

"She was penpals with someone called Marie-Jeanne Lenoir," piped up Hermione nervously. "Does that mean anything?"

Snape whirled round to face her. "They ended their friendship fifteen years ago!"

"_Marie-Jeanne_ did," Harry informed them. "_As far as we know_. But what if she actually remained in touch? She's been seen with Lucius Malfoy and Peter Pettigrew, and recently. Don't you think that this is all a bit suspicious? A little too conven –"

He was interrupted by a loud knock at the door. Dumbledore motioned for Lupin, who was nearest, to open it. Hannah and Draco tumbled in, frantic and shocked expressions on their faces. Draco immediately collapsed to the floor, coughing violently. Snape was swift to his side.

"What has happened?" asked Dumbledore, his tone brisk.

In response, Hannah held out a piece of parchment to him. "This…fell out of…Draco's…book," she told him. Dumbledore took it from her and read it out to everyone gathered in the room.

__

Lucius –

The date is set. No negotiations. That boy of yours has shown far too much indecisiveness. However, there are ways in which he can be persuaded. Narcissa dies unless he pledges allegiance to me and joins my ranks.

May 24th. 11.30pm. The ceremony will take place atop Scafell Pike. Lateness will not be tolerated.

"Where's Scafell Pike?" asked Hannah.

Silence fell for a moment until Hermione spoke. "Harry, your atlas! It'll be on there! Go and get it!"

Harry promptly shot off to retrieve the atlas from his dormitory, and Dumbledore turned to face Draco, who was still struggling for breath, despite Snape's best efforts to help. "How exactly did you find this, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked.

"Found it…cellar floor…Christmas holidays…Thought it fell…out of…my pocket," Draco told him between wheezes. "Didn't bother…looking at it…Thought it was…old scrap of…parchment…Used it…as a bookmark." He collapsed against Snape, coughing and wheezing even worse than before, tears streaming down his face. Snape exchanged looks with Dumbledore, who summoned Madam Pomfrey. She stepped out of the fireplace and dusted herself down, immediately turning her attention to Draco.

Harry returned soon after that and opened the atlas on the correct page after Hermione had ordered him to use the index. As the book was laid flat on Dumbledore's desk, the contours rose out of the page, forming the relief of the land they represented. Harry tapped his wand on the page. "Scafell Pike," he commanded. The peak of the tallest hill on the page began glowing red.

"That's _clever_," said Sirius admiringly.

"Not that far from us; it's in the Lake District," said Harry.

"Your geography leaves something to be desired, then, Mr. Potter," Snape told him coldly.

"So are we going to actually do anything?" demanded Hermione impatiently.

"I believe you have important exams coming up?" inquired Snape mildly.

Dumbledore sighed. "It's the start of April. The students come back to school on the eleventh. I suggest starting exams on the thirteenth, the following Monday. I'm sure the examiners will agree with me."

"_What_?" Four seventh-years stared at him in horror.

"My revision timetable will be messed up!" wailed Hermione in dismay.

"You'd only have another two weeks of lessons anyway," Lupin told them. "They'd all be revision; the contents of the exams have all been covered and I understand the exam papers have been prepared and will be brought to the school in the next few days. I agree with the headmaster."

"Severus?" asked Dumbledore.

"I agree. Owl the students at home immediately, and inform the staff and students that are here, at dinner tonight."

"Very well."

Sirius, now in human form, nodded his agreement. "I think it's a wise move. I've heard rumblings that Voldemort is planning an attack on the school, with the aid of his inside source."

Hannah looked confused. "What inside source?"

"We have a Death Eater among the student body," Lupin informed her. "Unfortunately, despite our best efforts – including the whole sleeping in the Great Hall thing – we have not discovered their identity."

"Joseph Flint's father and brother – Marcus – both went down for being Death Eaters," Hermione said, "but I saw Joseph's arms right up to the shoulders the other day when I was supervising his detention for Filch – scrubbing the walls he'd graffiti-ed. No Dark Mark. It can't be him." She leaned wearily against the wall and slid to the floor, resting her arms on her knees.

"Couldn't he have used some kind of concealment charm or something?" asked Harry.

"There is nothing that will truly conceal a Dark Mark," Snape informed him shortly.

Draco nodded his agreement. "I've seen my father try often enough, when he's convinced Aurors are coming for him." He pulled his hat off his head, causing his blond hair to stick up every which way, and coughed weakly. "I can't believe he and the Dark Lord are actually serious in their method to try to get me to become a Death Eater! I'd rather _die_!" This outburst triggered another bout of coughing from its violence, and Hannah, alarmed, was quick to his side to support him.

"I shall send owls out to students at once," announced Dumbledore. "The most you four can do is revise for your exams and be as prepared as you possibly can. I would be very wary of any attempts to rescue Narcissa Malfoy, however good an idea it may seem."

"How – how do we know it isn't all a trap?" asked Draco hesitantly. "Think about it. My father is adamant that I should become a Death Eater – basically a younger version of himself. I doubt my mother has ever actually _loved_ me, no matter what she may have said or done to persuade others otherwise – though I do believe she felt _something_ for me. The Dark Lord senses my indecisiveness and informs my father, who is essentially his right-hand man, and _he_ tells my mother. So they fake Mother's disappearance, I presumably will get a letter from my father in the near future, probably with similar wording to the letter I've just given you, Professor, and I'm assuming Father will come here to take me. By force if necessary, knowing him. And then I either join the Dark Lord or else I don't. Mother gets killed – possibly – and I get killed – almost definitely." He pushed his still-messy hair out of his eyes. "I'm going to have to do what he wants. I have no choice – not if I don't want innocent lives to be under threat."

"That depends on when and where Voldemort decides to attack," said Harry quietly. This was a sobering thought, and the room fell silent. Finally, Dumbledore cleared his throat. "We should wait and see whether you receive such a letter or not, Mr. Malfoy. Now, it's been a tiring day for you all; you may go now."

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

****

TBC

Author thanks:

CloudofDreams: I'll ring you Tuesday or Wednesday evening, once I get back home. I can't wait to see Finding Neverland! I had great fun writing the Sirius-Severus part! Sirius just loves to wind up Severus (although as I've said before, because this was written pre-OotP, Sirius is a lot nicer than he would otherwise have been). Harry's really not very perceptive about things like relationships. One of my friends reckons that Ron and Hermione have been going out for the whole of OotP; Harry just hasn't twigged. Ron isn't among my favourite characters and in this they're drifting apart now – mainly because of his attitude towards Draco. I could be linking him up with Parvati…

I'm not saying if I'll kill off Sirius or Severus because that would rather ruin the plot! Stop gloating about the end of term! At least I didn't have Cups and Colours on Friday afternoon!

Lucidity: I am saying nothing about Draco's condition; you'll have to wait and see. Yes, amazingly Sirius and Severus _are_ actually working together without killing each other! As I've said before, it isn't just Harry, Draco, Hannah, Hermione, etc. that are reaching maturity.

Rioblip: I felt it was about time we had some lighter stuff happen; it's been so dark. You'll have to see about Harry/Hermione. Of course, they may already be together and I just haven't been obvious about it…I had very much the same image of Dumbledore; I'm glad I conveyed that to my readers! The drifting-away of Ron is important to the plot later on; you'll just have to wait and see what exactly it is. I'm not commenting on Draco and his exams. "Are we there yet?" is a _perfect_ summary of Sirius! I love it! Personally I don't know how Severus manages to keep such self-control! End-of-term symptoms are completely understandable!

Rebell: I like sweet fluffy stuff. If you do, read the first fic I ever posted: _The Arithmancy Equation_. Good luck with your tests! I'm glad to finally have all my exams out of the way (unless, of course, we discover that once again our lecturers have lied to us and we do actually have exams in our 3rd year) The Dream Team is indeed drifting apart, big time.

Samhaincat: I had to get Draco out of the hospital wing – he would have gone mad otherwise! And Sirius and Severus – NOT the best of friends!

TinorialPeredhil: Yay! I've converted you to the DMHA ship! All aboard, me hearties! Now, bring me that horizon! (Oh sorry; wrong story!) There's NO way Draco's NOT doing his NEWTs this year! He's very determined about that! I'm not having Hannah kill Justin; she's too sweet/kind/gentle to do anything like that. Watch your spelling of Pomfrey's name. And I think I may well have been eating my lunch when I wrote the scene you mentioned. Did you get yourself an apple?

Dark Lady Arantraneth: don't hold out too much hope for a miraculous recovery, though.

Kelsey: I'm continuing! Just for your information, puppy eyes don't work on me! It won't make me update any faster! Thankies for the cookie! What kind is it? If it's got chocolate in it, it'll have to wait till Easter Sunday (Lent and all that).


	21. A Meeting with Dumbledore

Reaching Maturity

Disclaimer: not mine. Ditto for Narnia. Really. Honestly. Verstehen Sie? Although Jennifer Raby (who only gets a very small mention) is mine – she's based on two Hufflepuffy people I know.

****

A/N: I know very little about five-a-side football. I cannot play football if my life depended on it; I far prefer to watch it. Steve Cotterill's Claret and Blue Army!

****

A/N 2: I can't believe there are only 12 chapters, including this one, left! At the current rate I'm posting, the final chapter should be going up about a month before Half Blood Prince comes out. I'll make sure it's all up by July 16th. I have a month, so I have some leeway – always useful, knowing what I'm like! Also, please be patient over the Easter holidays because I'm relying on the family computer at home (I don't use my laptop to connect to the Internet) and it's old and slow and a little temperamental.

Happy (belated) Easter! God bless!

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

Chapter 21: A Meeting With Dumbledore

The next few days passed eventfully, and the foursome spent their time revising together, sometimes in the school grounds, or else in the library if it was raining. Draco remained as fragile as ever, tiring after only fifteen or twenty minutes' work. He hated this, despite the fact that he did not say so to his friends. Hannah grew steadily more and more worried about him as the holidays wore on and the exams approached, a fear that she confessed to Harry and Hermione on Easter Sunday. "He's just not getting better," she fretted. "What's going to happen when he gets that letter from his father? It's bound to come in the next few days, and he's in no fit state to be going who knows where in the Lake District!"

The letter arrivedthe following day. The four of them were sitting outside playing Hangman in Hannah's notebook and Hermione, naturally, was winning, when a huge eagle owl soared in, dropped a roll of parchment onto Draco's knees and soared out again. He nervously unrolled it and as he read it, his mouth went dry. "It – it's _that _letter. From Father," he croaked.

"We have to go to Dumbledore," stated Hermione firmly, standing up from the grass she was sitting on. She hauled Harry (who was rather glad of the interruption, as he was losing rather badly) to his feet, and Hannah did the same to Draco. They picked their bags up and made their way back up to the castle, Hannah's arm around Draco's waist and Hermione's hand still tightly over Harry's. The Head Girl turned to him. "Harry, where's Sirius?"

"Probably curled up by the fire in Lupin's office, seeing as there's nothing he can do for the Order at the moment. Do you want me to get them?"

"Yes. And Draco, can you get Snape?"

"Yes, ma'am." He teasingly saluted her and they split – Harry to Lupin's office, Hermione to Dumbledore, and Draco and Hannah to Snape. When the latter pair knocked on Snape's door, the look on his face when he opened it told them that he knew exactly why they were there. "It has come, then." It was not a question.

"We're going to Dumbledore; can you come?" requested Draco.

Snape nodded and followed them as they led the way. By the time they arrived, Lupin and Sirius were already there, as they had not had as far to come.

"So," said Dumbledore quietly. "The summons has come."

Draco nodded. "And I _will_ have to go. I – I think Father's realised that I may be wavering in my decision to join him in the Dark Lord's ranks. I don't know how I can resist him, though. He's so strong, and I can barely walk down a flight of stairs without having to stop at the bottom to catch my breath. What chance have I got, in all honesty?"

Dumbledore was silent for a moment, during which time he noticed Hannah discreetly slip her hand into Draco's and give it a reassuring squeeze. He also noticed that Draco seemed to welcome it. Finally he spoke. "I rather think that you will surprise yourself, Mr. Malfoy. I suspect that, when the need arises, you will find the strength you need to survive. The human species has amazing survival abilities.

"However, exams are your immediate priority. For _all _of you. Then, if Professors Figg, Lupin, McGonagall and Snape all agree, along with Sirius, you four – nobody else – will have extra defence lessons. Minerva will attempt to teach Apparition and, with Sirius' help, the Animagus transformation." There was a definite twinkle in his eyes as he said this. "Remus and Arabella will work on your defence abilities, and Severus, you will teach them some very advanced potions. You are all expected to do well in your Potions NEWT, so it should not be too much of a problem. Does that sit well with you three?" This was directed at the other adults in the room.

"Why just us?" asked Hermione bluntly.

"Why _me_?" added Hannah, bewildered. "I'm only a Hufflepuff!"

"I was getting to that. Patience, children; patience. You young ones these days have far too little of it.

"Hermione, your vast intelligence is invaluable in times like these, and you analytical skills and logical thinking, which you have demonstrated so well throughout your time here at Hogwarts, will no doubt save not only your life, but those of a lot of others as well. You would, of course, have no doubt done equally well in Ravenclaw."

"The Sorting Hat nearly put me there," admitted Hermione, going slightly red.

"Harry, you are one of the most powerful wizards our world has ever seen. You have faced Voldemort on a number of occasions and each time have equalled him in skill and ability. Your courage, also, is outstanding. A true Gryffindor.

"And Hannah. Maybe you do not possess Hermione's vast knowledge – I sometimes wonder if perhaps she knows more than I – but you have such a great sense of fairness and justice, honesty and, above all, loyalty, that I know you will never desert these three. And may I take this opportunity to point out to the others that you are a direct descendant of Helga Hufflepuff."

Hannah stared at him in amazement, lost for words. She knew that almost everyone in her family that had attended Hogwarts had been in Hufflepuff for as far back as they could be traced, but nobody had ever mentioned having the blood of Hufflepuff herself in their veins.

"And Draco. You, like Harry, are a very powerful wizard, though I rather suspect very few – including yourself – have much of an idea as to exactly how powerful you are. Your family has fairly strong blood ties to Salazar Slytherin, I understand."

Draco nodded in confirmation.

"You are extremely observant – always a useful skill – and, it must be said, a true Slytherin. A sharp mind, cunning nature, ambitious…Never bad things in themselves; it is simply a matter of what they are used for. I am sure you will be able to get yourself out of some _very_ tight spots, should you find yourself in them."

The headmaster cleared his throat. "You four are, especially together, the most powerful quartet that I have come across in a _very_ long time. Draco, your knowledge of the Dark Arts will, I expect, be invaluable in the near future. I do believe that you four are the new Founders' Assembly." At the looks of confusion on the faces of three of them, he added, "I'm sure Miss Granger will be only too happy to enlighten you."

He regarded the four closely. Hermione's face showed fierce determination. Harry, typically, looked slightly apprehensive, as well as seeming suddenly older and more mature. Hannah was biting her lip, but there was a steadfast, resolute look in her cornflower-blue eyes. Draco probably came across as the most scared of the four – after all, none of the others would be openly defying a powerful, domineering, violent and Dark parent that supported and truly believed in Voldemort. However, despite this, his grey eyes held an icy-cold, steely determination to succeed.

And, of course, they all had each other's strengths to draw upon now. Draco in particular would need it. Dumbledore was privately dubious about whether the fragile boy was strong enough to hold his own. Perhaps, he reflected, this would be where Hannah's love for him would be most tested – and prove to be his lifeline.

"What happens now?" asked Sirius from one corner.

"These four will sit their NEWT exams and then the special training will begin," Dumbledore informed them. "I have also contacted the Head of the Wizarding Examinations Authority, Griselda Marchbanks, and Draco, you will be permitted extra time to complete all of your exams."

"Thank you, sir," said Draco.

Dumbledore nodded his acknowledgement. "Now go. Revise and pass. On the evening after your final exam – which is, I believe, History of Magic – we eight, along with Professors McGonagall and Figg, will meet in here at eight o'clock sharp. Shoo; I believe it is time for dinner."

They went.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

Unable to risk discussing the impending meeting at dinner where there was a risk of being overheard (Madam Pomfrey now let Draco have lunch and dinner in the Great Hall with everyone else), they planned on doing so the next day.

However, that plan went out of the window, as Draco was completely shattered from the previous day's excitement – as Pomfrey insisted on calling it – and he spent the next day sleeping and reading his _Narnia_ books. Pomfrey had banned "The Three H's", as she had labelled Harry, Hermione and Hannah. They sat in the library, as it was raining heavily, and revised. For the rest of the holidays, they and Draco focused solely on their exams, putting the impending Final Battle to the backs of their minds.

And all too soon for the fifth- and seventh-years, the summer term began. They were overjoyed to hear that they would now be able to sleep back in their dormitories. Most complained about the rescheduling of the exams. Dean Thomas was particularly put out. "I don't see why they have to go and change them, though," he was saying as he sat down at the Gryffindor table.

"Dad reckons there's going to be a huge battle to finish the ongoing war with You-Know-Who," Theresa informed him. "And soon. He's a mediwizard so he's got to be really prepared for that sort of thing." Her brow furrowed in worry. "He's the equivalent of a Muggle paramedic, which Mum is, so he'll be caught up in the middle of things if there _is _a big battle."

"What about Quidditch?" asked Seamus. "It's just that we've still got to play Ravenclaw, and that's going to be the day after the exams finish at the moment."

"As far as I know, we still play," replied Harry. "We'd have to be actually _fighting_ before Hooch let something interfere with Quidditch; you know what she's like!"

The others laughed at this statement. "Too right," agreed Theresa. "So what's the match plan?"

"Not here. Common room," said Harry. He looked straight into Hermione's eyes. "I can't come to the library to revise tonight, Hermione."

She frowned at him and opened her mouth to say that they hadn't planned to go to the library, when she caught Harry's meaning – he couldn't go to see Draco. "Oh. _Oh_. That's OK; I might meet Hannah or Mandy instead, then."

"Sorry; this is a pretty important match," Harry apologised.

"Don't worry about it. Just make sure you win that Cup."

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

There wasn't any time to think any further ahead than the next exam for the next fortnight for the seventh-years, and everyone was frantically doing last-minute revision. The common rooms were full of students testing each other, revising in groups, revising by themselves, yelling for everyone to _please_ shut up because otherwise they'd _never_ remember _anything_… The rest of the students knew better than to bother them.

Seamus and Dean, along with Terry Boot from Ravenclaw and Justin Finch-Fletchley from Hufflepuff were doing a roaring trade in good-luck charms (most of Seamus' 'charms' consisted of what _he _claimed were four-leaf clovers that Mandy Brocklehurst vehemently denounced as fake in the middle of the Great Hall).

Alongside all the revision, the Gryffindor Quidditch team managed to cram in three two-hour practices in the evenings, as well as a two-hour slot on the Saturday morning halfway through the exams. They found that whacking the Bludgers as hard as they could was a wonderful stress-reliever. They were fairly confident about beating Ravenclaw.

Most of the hysterics seemed to come from the fifth-years, who had never sat big exams before. Quite a few made themselves known to Madam Pomfrey for various calming draughts and sleeping potions, and the older prefects were kept busy not only with their own revision but also with reassuring the fifth-years. The fifth-year prefects were no good; they were just as stressed as their classmates. The seventh-years, although stressed and frazzled, were slightly calmer because they had an idea of what to expect.

And finally the exams were over. The last History of Magic paper was collected in – and then _freedom_! When they were released, most students grabbed their bags and went racing down to the lake, yelling and whooping with delight and relief.

Harry, Hermione and Hannah did not join them, going instead to McGonagall's office to wait for Draco. He emerged half an hour later with McGonagall supporting him. His face was drained of all colour and everything about him screamed complete exhaustion. "I am _so_ glad that's over," he said to the other three, swaying dangerously until Hannah caught and steadied him.

"I shall see you four tonight," said McGonagall in a low voice as she left them, Draco's exam paper in her hand.

"Let's go down to the lake with the others," suggested Hermione.

Draco shook his head. "Not all of us together; that would look odd – and suspicious. Besides, I really, _really_ need to sleep. You three go down."

"I'll get you up to Pomfrey first," said Hannah in a tone that told him to not even consider arguing. "Harry, Hermione, I'll see you down there."

The two Gryffindors watched them go. "I don't like this," admitted Hermione. "He's completely wiped out; he won't be able to get out of bed for the next two or three days."

Harry nodded his agreement. "What did you make of that question that wanted us to compare the rise of Grindelwald with the rise of Nazism and Hitler in the Muggle world?" He shuddered. "That was _evil_." They started walking down to the lake.

"You and I have an advantage over people like Ron and Ernie; _we_ were taught about Hitler right from primary school." She breathed a sigh of relief. "Let's not talk about them now; they're over. I want to go down to the lake."

Harry stared at her in disbelief. "Wait a moment. _Hermione Granger_ doesn't want to talk about an exam? Is there something wrong with you?"

Hermione playfully cuffed him round the ear. "I'm fine. I've been letting Lisa Turpin from Ravenclaw practise her relaxation stuff on me – and it's seemed to work. Anyway, I'm focusing on this meeting tonight."

Harry grabbed her hand. "Come on. Let's go outside." He took off at a run down the stairs. Hermione let out a shriek of surprise but was forced to run whether she liked it or not. Fortunately for her reputation, there were no other people around to see their Head Girl completely undignified. She enjoyed it, as did Harry. It wasn't long before they found the rest of the Gryffindor seventh-years, who were sprawled out by the lake with some of the Hufflepuffs. Dean was setting up an impromptu football pitch in an attempt to get a game of five-a-side football between the two houses going. He stood as they approached. "Oi, Harry! We need one more person for a game! You know how to play football!"

Harry, somewhat reluctantly, pulled free of Hermione's hand, pulled his robes off, loosened his tie and rolled up his shirt-sleeves (his jumper had long-since been abandoned in his dormitory). The Gryffindor team consisted of himself and the other four boys. Hufflepuff fielded Sally-Anne Perks, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Ernie Macmillan, Susan Bones and Jennifer Raby.

Four piles of robes marked the corners, two Hufflepuff ties (Ernie's and Justin's) marked one set of goalposts, between which Ernie stood, and two Gryffindor ties (Ron's and Dean's) marked the other set, between which Ron stood.

It was a frantic, loud game, and soon a large crowd from all four houses and all seven years had gathered to watch. There was a reasonable level of skill from all the players – Sally-Anne had been the star player of the football team at her primary school – with the exception of Justin, whose posh prep school had been a rugby-playing school. Nevertheless, he joined in and was soon profoundly embarrassed by Neville, who managed to easily skip past his outstretched foot to score. Hannah, who had arrived in time to see this, was the loudest of all in hollering from the edge of the 'pitch'.

The match ended in a 6-6 draw and when the game was called to an end, they collapsed, worn out, on the grass. Hermione (who had been persuaded to referee) glanced at her watch and announced that it was almost time for dinner. This prompted a mad dash inside from everyone else after they had paused to grab bags, robes and other sundry items. Neville got halfway to the school building before remembering his tie and had to dash back to fetch it. Harry put his robes back on, and he, Hannah and Hermione went inside at a rather more sedate pace than the others had done. "How's Draco?" he asked.

"Practically asleep by the time I got him up to Madam Pomfrey," answered Hannah. "I've got to go up there at seven-thirty to get him for this meeting – speaking of which, what do you think it's about?"

"The next step in preparation, I suppose," said Hermione. "Dumbledore told us to focus on our exams and we've done that. It could be about those extra lessons they were talking about."

They had reached the castle and went in to join their housemates for dinner.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

****

TBC

Author thanks:

CloudofDreams: indeed more darkness cometh. I'm still not going to tell you who will get killed (even if you threaten to not return my PotC soundtrack CD because I shall simply hold your _Finding Neverland_ DVD to ransom). There is a possibility that I may not kill off either Sirius _or_ Severus so don't start panicking just yet! You have yet to see the last of the less-than-esteemed Mrs. Malfoy. As for Ron, we'll see about him. At the moment I have multiple HP, LOTR and PotC fics on the go, so be patient with me! As well as my research proposal! And orthopaedics to read about prior to placement. And a thousand other things to be doing.

Lucidity: you are indeed correct about the use of the term "revise". A difference between the UK and US I was unaware of. I think most people are romantics at heart (myself included) and given the right environment, Draco is too. As for whether it's necessary, I'm not telling you! By the time you read this you'll know that they were in the Easter holidays and have now returned and done their exams. The exams were early partly for the reason you suggested – and also people want to be with their families in case they never see them again. That's the kind of world they're living in. I am saying nothing about Lucius and the note!

Samhaincat: sorry, but Draco would if necessary! He has so few real friends that Harry, Hermione and Hannah mean everything to him. I have to keep Severus in character and keeping up appearances!

TinorialPeredhil: I know people like that fifth-year Ravenclaw – write stuff down wrong and then can't accept that they could possibly have made a mistake. Couldn't resist the Moody link! Do you have no faith in me to protect Draco? (hides from TP) I remember mentioning to someone before about the parchment. I think. I'm employing some of JK and other authors' techniques of subtlety.

Rebell: I'm finally getting the hang of writing decent twists! You'll find out in due course whether it's good or bad. There's still 12 (well, 11 if you've read 21) chapters to go, so there's still some time yet! They did indeed do that to us. We weren't impressed. Just the small detail of a THREE HOUR EXAM. Not anything major or anything.

AshleyPorter: have now updated!


	22. Changing

Reaching Maturity

**Disclaimer: **not mine. Am borrowing and will return.

**A/N: **many many MANY thanks to riob for the Latin translation ( – 'mensa' meaning table)

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

Chapter 22: Changing

When the four seventh-years arrived in Dumbledore's office at eight o'clock, the five teachers and Sirius were already there. All but Sirius were sat on chairs; he was sitting cross-legged on the floor, his back to the fire. Dumbledore rose as they entered, from where he had been sitting behind his desk. Four chairs, unoccupied at present, sat in the middle of the room. The four students stood by the door.

"Welcome, welcome," Dumbledore warmly greeted them. He extended a hand towards the four chairs. "Please, sit down." They did so, and he noticed how Hannah and Draco immediately sat together, hands intertwined, and also how Harry and Hermione sat as close together as was possible. "Pleased that your exams are over?" His eyes twinkled.

"_Definitely_," said Harry fervently. The others nodded in agreement.

"On to business," said Dumbledore briskly. "Once tomorrow's Quidditch match is over, you begin your intensive training." His gaze flickered momentarily in Draco's direction, noting with concern the colourless cheeks and black smudges under his eyes, and the way he leaned against Hannah, an overwhelming aura of weariness about him. "I do _not_ want _any _of you overdoing it – Miss Granger, that includes you. I can only divulge a little information to you four, but I _can_ tell you that we must act swiftly." He reached behind his desk. "You four will be removed from the rest of the school for precisely this reason."

"Where will we go?" asked Harry, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"You will remain within the school – it is not safe for you to be anywhere else – but you will join Mr. Malfoy in the hospital wing so that you can work together, away from the distraction of the rest of the school – and their curiosity. You will move in after the Quidditch match tomorrow."

He pulled out the two objects that he had been concealing behind his desk and placed them on the desk. The four gave a collective gasp. Harry instantly recognised the sword with the rubies set into the hilt as being that of Godric Gryffindor. The other item was the old, patched Sorting Hat.

Dumbledore handed the sword to Harry. "You know what this is. Take great care of it; it is my belief that you will need it soon." He picked up the Sorting Hat and handed it to Draco.

"What's this for?" asked Draco, bewildered. "I've _been _Sorted, at the start of first year! I'm about to leave!"

"Put it on and you shall see."

Draco eyed the Hat sceptically, but nevertheless out it on. He was extremely surprised when the Hat chose to keep its musings to itself, and was just contemplating removing it when something hit the top of his head. "Ouch!"

"Problem, Mr. Malfoy?" inquired Dumbledore mildly.

Draco removed the Hat from his head and stared in amazement at the emerald-encrusted hilt of the sword that emerged from the Hat. "What the…?"

"That belonged to Salazar Slytherin," Dumbledore informed him. "Use it wisely and use it well." Draco could only nod.

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore prompted.

Hermione took the Hat and obligingly placed it on her head, having various ideas about what to expect. It did not really surprise her when a sword, a little smaller than Harry and Draco's, and more feminine in style, encrusted with sapphires, emerged from the Hat. "Rowena Ravenclaw's?" she queried. Dumbledore nodded, smiling, and Hermione gave the Hat to Hannah.

Hannah took it and moments later a sword, much like Ravenclaw's that was now in the possession of Hermione, only with bright yellow citrines set into the hilt rather than sapphires.

"I am sure that I need not tell you, Miss Abbott, that that sword originally belonged to Helga Hufflepuff. I believe that this one, out of the four, was used least. It remains to be seen whether it will remain so." He took the Hat from Hannah and placed it back on its shelf, surveying them four gravely. "It is almost inevitable that you will use these at some point soon. Take care of them for as long as you hold them in your possession –"

"How long will that be?" interrupted Hermione.

"You are the Founders' Assembly. They will pass out of your possession and will return to the safety of the Sorting Hat once you die – when the first of the Assembly passes from this world. Keep them on you at all times.

"Minerva and Sirius will join you at nine am on Monday. Apparition and the Animagus transformation. You will have Potions with Severus at eleven. An hour and a half for each. Then you will have lunch followed by Defence Against the Dark Arts with Remus and Arabella for two hours. I'm sure that your background will come in useful, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco stiffened and stared at his hands.

"It isn't necessarily a bad thing, Draco," said Snape softly from where he sat. "You can use your knowledge to help the other three." He received a half-smile from Draco.

"I have arranged for all of your belongings to be taken up to the hospital wing during the Quidditch match," continued Dumbledore. After that, you will eat with your houses and then go to the hospital wing. You _may _have visitors, although I would prefer it if you did not, for security reasons – the less that is known about your significance, the better.

"Now, any questions?"

"What do we do on Sunday?" asked Harry.

"Rest. You will need your strength."

"What do we tell our friends?" Hannah wanted to know.

"Nothing," said McGonagall immediately. "Tell them _nothing_ unless you must. If that is the case, say that you are seeing Poppy for counselling after the exams. No more questions? Then I'll see you tomorrow. And Potter?"

"Yes?"

"Win that match tomorrow."

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

"This is the last chance for four of us. We can do it, as long as we stay_ calm_ and _focused_. I have absolute faith in you; you are all _excellent_." Harry paused, then shrugged. "I can't think of anything else to say to you except _go out there and do your absolute best._ Oh, and _win that Cup for Gryffindor_." He picked up his broom. "Let's go."

And go they did. After only fifteen minutes they were 70-0 up, not letting Ravenclaw's Chasers anywhere near the Quaffle. Ron in goal had absolutely nothing to do.

And then Harry spotted a small glint of gold near Ron. Within moments the Snitch was in his fingers, struggling to get free. He held it aloft in triumphant celebration before landing – and promptly being mobbed by his overjoyed teammates and fellow Gryffindors. Hermione gave him a tight hug and kissed him delightedly. It was a while before the crowds drifted back to the stands to allow the presentation of the Cup to take place.

Dumbledore handed the much-coveted Cup to Harry, who held it high in the air in triumph. They had done it! He scanned the crowds as he passed the Cup to Theresa in a daze. Hannah was grinning and clapping hard with her fellow Hufflepuffs, her best friend Susan Bones standing next to her. Harry caught Draco's eye as the Slytherin stood at the back of a crowd of his silent, glowering housemates. He gave Harry a brief, reluctant half-smile.

And there was Hermione – _his_ Hermione – screaming and cheering, jumping up and down and waving a huge Gryffindor banner, the most undignified he'd ever seen her. This sight brought an even bigger grin to his face. Her hair was all over the place and her robes – red and gold especially for the occasion – were completely askew, yet she didn't seem to care. She met his eyes and grinned even wider.

Harry wanted to stay there forever, not wanting to lose this moment. Never again would he stand up here and raise the Quidditch Cup in triumph. The next time Gryffindor won the Cup, it would be someone else holding the Cup aloft. It seemed like no time at all had passed before they were all changing out of their Quidditch robes, four of them for the last time ever. Harry clambered onto the top of the bench, using the rail of pegs for support.

He cleared his throat to get the team's attention. "I just want to say thank you to every one of you. Well done. _Everyone_," he said, years glistening in his eyes, much to his annoyance. He'd been trying to keep the emotions out of this, but it didn't look like he was going to win that battle. Colin Creevey, having taken numerous photographs of the team during the match and afterwards with the Cup, had departed amidst promises to get copies for everyone. Harry took a deep breath to regain his composure. "Ginny, I want you to take over as captain for next year. You'll do a fine job. I know you will. Find us some good players."

He clambered down and was promptly enveloped in a huge bear hug by Ginny who, by the sound of things, was giving in to her emotions. "Thanks, Harry," she whispered through her sniffles. "I – I'll do my best."

"I know you will. Good luck. I'll see you in a bit at the feast." He withdrew from her hug, to be confronted by Theresa and Dai. Hugging them, and afterwards his fellow seventh-years, he then gathered up his robes and left the changing room.

The feast, especially the Gryffindor table (understandably so), was a very loud affair, and the table of the victorious house was abuzz with plans for a celebration party that evening in the common room. Harry and Hermione spoke to McGonagall before she left the Great Hall and were able to secure permission to go to the party, on the grounds that it would be highly conspicuous and suspicious if they were _not_ there. McGonagall smiled at them and informed them that she might "pop along" herself at some point.

And "pop along" she did, along with Lupin, who grinned conspiratorially at Harry and Hermione when he saw the large quantities of sweets and Butterbeer available. These had been obtained from Hogsmeade by the sixth- and seventh-year boys, despite restrictions, as well as other food acquired from the school kitchens, courtesy of the girls.

At one-thirty the following morning, McGonagall ordered them off to bed, and Harry and Hermione quietly slipped off to the hospital wing. They were not on the main ward, but rather in a side-room that contained four beds, two of which were occupied by the sleeping forms of Hannah and Draco.

"I shall see you on Monday," the deputy head whispered to her two students before she left them. They fell into bed, exhausted from the day's excitements, too tired to even think about what the coming days and weeks would bring them. They were asleep before their heads hit their pillows.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

Hannah was the first to wake on Sunday morning, and she glanced at her watch, which revealed that it was just after nine o'clock. Looking round the room, she noticed Hermione stirring, while the two boys remained steadfastly asleep, Draco under the influence of a sleeping potion. "Morning," Hannah greeted the Head Girl, suppressing a smile as she realised the Gryffindor was still fully clothed.

Hermione rolled over to face her, screwing up her eyes as the sunlight hit her full in the face from the partially open curtains. "What time is it?" she asked through a yawn, forcing herself into a sitting position so she could look at Hannah properly.

"Just past nine," Hannah replied. "I doubt those two will be up anytime soon. When did you and Harry get up here last night?"

"You mean this morning," Hermione corrected wryly. "Quarter to two. McGonagall and Lupin came and joined the party. I think they stayed until the end. McGonagall certainly did; she was the one who ended it." She yawned again.

"Lupin went just after midnight," Harry informed them from across the room.

"And a good morning to _you_," shot back Hermione. "What do we do now?" She hated not having a plan.

"Get dressed?" suggested Harry, pointedly looking at himself and Hermione, still in the clothes they had worn the previous day. "Should we wake Draco?"

"No; it's best to let him sleep. He needs it," said Hannah, getting out of bed. "I'm having a shower. See you in a few minutes." She grabbed some clothes, washbag and a towel, and went into the girls' bathroom.

"S'pose I should as well," remarked Harry.

"Yes," agreed Hermione. "While it's free." She watched him go and then wandered over to the window at the end of the room. She could see some of the first-years running around outside, clearly playing some kind of Tag, and smiled sadly down at them. They were so young and carefree, so innocent, without the awareness of Voldemort's impending attack, not having anyone's expectations resting on their shoulders. She wondered if Draco would ever be able to do something like play Tag again.

She idly glanced across at the foot of the four beds. Hers and Hannah's were on one side of the room, and Harry and Draco's were on the other side, with their trunks at the foot of their beds. She let her gaze rest on each of the four swords, currently in their scabbards. A chill went down her spine as she recalled Dumbledore's words from Friday evening.

She couldn't fight. She didn't even _want_ to, yet she'd been thrown into this without any warning or get-out clause. The same went for the other three as well. Her heart went out to Hannah in particular; she was a Hufflepuff – a gentle-souled, peace-loving Hufflepuff. It was on the four of them alone to defeat the dark forces of evil.

"But what if we fail?" she whispered to herself. "What if we're not strong enough?" Her gaze fell upon Draco's thin, white, drawn face that was troubled even in sleep, and thin body under the covers, wondering what would happen if he were unable to fight with the rest of the Assembly. _He isn't in any fit state to be fighting! What does Dumbledore think he's doing?_

"Bathroom's free," announced Hannah, breaking into Hermione's thoughts. The Hufflepuff, joining her, followed her gaze and lowered her voice. "He'll come through for us, Hermione. He'll come through." She laid a comforting hand on the Head Girl's arm. "Have faith."

"I suppose…" said Hermione, unconvinced. "I still can't help worrying, though. And if it were Harry…" She shuddered, pushing away unwelcome images from her mind. "I don't envy you, Hannah. You've got it worse."

"Perhaps. But Draco doesn't have the burden of the one expected to defeat the most evil and most powerful Dark Lord of recent times."

Hermione nodded, silent for a moment before collecting her things and going into the shower, still deep in thought.

Hannah sat down on Draco's bed, gently brushing his blond hair off his face. He slept on, oblivious, and did was not aware when Hannah leaned forward and lightly kissed his forehead. She sat back and stayed on the bed for a long time, her hand over Draco's, barely acknowledging the return of first Harry and then Hermione.

"Morning, everyone," said Madam Pomfrey loudly, making her presence known. The three students that were awake jumped, startled, as she pushed a trolley laden with breakfast into the room. "Are you ready for breakfast?"

"Definitely!" exclaimed Harry enthusiastically, leaping to his feet and eyeing the food hungrily.

"Get the table then," ordered Pomfrey. "It's just outside. One of you girls help him."

Hermione went. Pointing her wand at the table, she said, "_Mobilimensa._" Harry did the same, and together they floated the table into the room, gently setting it down in the centre. It was not long before they and Hannah had also brought the chairs in.

"Nicely done," said Pomfrey approvingly. "Sit down. I'll wake Mr. Malfoy."

He woke at her gentle shaking and immediately pulled on the thick green dressing-gown that the mediwitch handed to him. "Morning," he said wearily, slowly getting out of bed and making his way over to the table. He dropped into the final seat with a heavy thud.

"I want to see you _eating_ for once, Draco," Pomfrey said sternly. "I'm not having you just picking at it like you normally do – yes, I know you do. Severus is reporting back to me, so don't deny it. It's for your own good. You need your strength."

Draco stared at the full English breakfast that the other three were tucking into enthusiastically, and swallowed hard. "I – I can't eat all that!" he whispered in protest. He looked up at her in horror. "I _can't_!"

"Yes you can. Take your time, if you need to."

He nodded reluctantly, but Harry was quick to engage him in an intense discussion about Quidditch – Madam Pomfrey's tactics – which prevented Draco from focusing one what he was eating. Before he realised it, he had eaten everything on his plate.

"What did I tell you?" said Pomfrey, eyes twinkling. "You don't have to eat anything else if you don't want to. That's a huge improvement on the last four months."

Draco shrugged.

"Just see that you keep it up," added Pomfrey firmly. "You three, keep an eye on him." She bustled out to see to a Ravenclaw third-year that had been violently attacked by one of Peeves' pranks.

"Anyone want a game of chess?" asked Harry.

"Me," said Hannah. "Black or white?"

"I'll go with black." He got out his chess set and set it up on the floor. It was a Muggle chess set – Harry disliked the wizarding chess pieces shouting at him all the time. "You move first."

Hermione sat down on the floor to watch and Draco slipped off to get washed and dressed. Lupin wandered in after a while, dark circles under his eyes from a late night (courtesy of the party), and sat on one of the chairs to oversee the game. Harry finally lost, and he and Hannah looked up to register Lupin's presence for the first time.

"Every time I see you playing chess," commented Lupin teasingly, "you lose."

Harry stuck his tongue out at him. "I beat Hermione once."

"That's only because I had Percy telling me what to do!" retorted Hermione. "I haven't played you since."

"So I'll play you now."

Hermione paused, then sighed. "Oh, go on, then. "Let's have a tournament, all five of us. I'm sure you'll lose, though."

"Hey!"

When Draco returned, he agreed to join in. The tournament lasted all day, with Lupin the eventual victor, beating all four seventh-years. Draco claimed that Lupin, with twenty more years' experience than them, should not have been allowed to join in. They went to bed early, in preparation for the next day.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

**TBC**

**Author thanks:**

TinorialPeredhil: I know a few older people who are adamant that young people these days have far too little patience, so I thought I'd transfer that here. The Marauders weren't 'powerful' in the sense that the Assembly is; they were just popular mischief-makers (and bullies in the cases of James and Sirius). The Marauders have Pettigrew as well – who, let's face it, is hardly powerful. I couldn't resist the bit with Hooch and Quidditch. Kind of reminds me of my school – in my last year we had snow in our area (not much, but a lot for our area) and, listening to the radio, just about every school in my area was shut. Was my school? Was it heck!

I wanted to have a different sport aside from Quidditch, and when you get a group of boys together, it's almost inevitable that, if they have a ball, they'll start a game of football. Harry would have learned at primary school. And I only update once a week or thereabouts. I have lots of things to be doing and also it gives people time to read and review.Lucidity: of course Dumbledore knows more than he's letting on! (Remember the tantrum's Harry's thrown in the past because of this?) He knows far, far more. And you'll have to wait and see if anything is officially diagnosed with Draco or not. Do you think I've finished torturing him yet? ;)

Samhaincat: the whole Assembly thing just developed out of nowhere – as did most of this story. It was originally intended to be a 3- or 4-chapter Draco angst-fest. It's turned into much, much more than that. I might do an aside to this specifically about the Founders' Assembly. You need the four different people with the different skills and abilities to balance and strengthen each other. It'll all be in the fic about the Assembly when I get round to writing it. I suspect you're not the only one here who wants to know more about it, and I intend to remedy that situation at some point.Rebell: right. Football. Yes, it's what you would call soccer. No offence, but I really don't see why American football is called _football_ – from what I've seen of it, the ball hardly ever comes into contact with feet. Maybe that's because I'm British, but it seems a pretty stupid name for the sport. You'll hopefully have other fics of mine to look forward to in the future, and there's also the other fics I've written prior to this that you could investigate…nudge nudge wink wink. There's Lupin's 18th birthday that I've just this afternoon started writing. Plus there's a really angsty Draco fic that I'm in the middle of writing, and if you're into Pirates of the Caribbean, I've just finished a 3-chapter fic for that, which I'll be posting when Reaching Maturity is finished.

Rebell: right. Football. Yes, it's what you would call soccer. No offence, but I really don't see why American football is called – from what I've seen of it, the ball hardly ever comes into contact with feet. Maybe that's because I'm British, but it seems a pretty stupid name for the sport. You'll hopefully have other fics of mine to look forward to in the future, and there's also the other fics I've written prior to this that you could investigate…nudge nudge wink wink. There's Lupin's 18th birthday that I've just this afternoon started writing. Plus there's a really angsty Draco fic that I'm in the middle of writing, and if you're into Pirates of the Caribbean, I've just finished a 3-chapter fic for that, which I'll be posting when Reaching Maturity is finished. 

CloudofDreams: did the boiler man come and did he sort it out? I'm assuming that's why you couldn't come round today? Ah well. I'll see you Wednesday and then we'll meet up over summer. Narcissa could be on the Light side…or there's an equal chance that she could be with the Dark side! (Well, that's actually a lie, because I've written which side she's on – I'm just not telling you!) As I've told samhaincat, I'm planning to write a one-shot about the Founders' Assembly for you all and post it after this. I've also just written another PotC fic, which will also go up, July or August, I expect.

TheArtDisarray: ooooh, new reviewer! Yay! Hope you enjoy the rest of this!Xared: glad you're liking!

Dark Borg Drone: hannon le for reviewing!


	23. Advanced Lessons

Reaching Maturity

Disclaimer: not mine. Am borrowing and will return.

****

A/N: my name is not Bob Anderson (for those that don't know who he is, he's the guy that teaches the swordfighting and so on to actors in big Hollywood movies, including Lord of the Rings and Pirates of the Caribbean). I know nothing about swordfighting, so don't moan at me if I've got things wrong. If you know something about swordfighting please let me know!

****

A/N 2: the things Draco thinks about towards the end of this chapter when he is gazing up at the stars are things I often think about, and discuss with my dad in great depth (my mum has _no_ interest in such topics)

****

A/N 3: whoa, another super-long chapter! Not intentional; that's just how it happened!

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

Chapter 23: Advanced Lessons

"Becoming an Animagus is rather like buying one of Mr. Ollivander's wands," McGonagall lectured the next morning. "You do not choose the wand; the wand chooses _you_ – or in the case of the Animagus transformation, your character determines which creature you become." She quickly transformed into her tabby cat form and back again.

"Which is _exactly_ why it's our fault for not sussing out Pettigrew sooner," growled Sirius. "A _rat_ – should've known he'd betray Lily and James when –"

"_Thank you_, Sirius," McGonagall interrupted brusquely. "If you were still a student, I would remove points from Gryffindor for not paying close enough attention in lessons." Glaring at the Azkaban escapee, she returned to her lecture, all four listening earnestly.

Sirius, when it was his turn, explained exactly how he, James and Peter had worked out how to become Animagi. McGonagall attempted to maintain a stern, disapproving expression on her face, but failed miserably and was soon laughing along with the four students at the Marauders' exploits.

While Sirius was talking, she was closely scrutinising the four, trying to work out their possible Animagus forms. Draco was easy – a fox, because his nature was so like that of the creature. Hermione, for some reason, would become an otter. Hannah was harder…perhaps a cat? And Harry would in all likelihood become some sort of lion. _Preferably a small one._

She glanced at the clock and gave a small cry of surprise. "Good grief! I have a large class of second-years to teach!" She hurriedly got to her feet. "I must go at once! Professor Snape will be here soon. Sirius, you don't need to stay."

"I won't," said Sirius curtly, getting to his feet and nodding at the four seventh-years. "I'll see you lot later." He swiftly transformed into Padfoot and slipped out of the room, just ahead of McGonagall.

"I never realised we had to know so much!" breathed Hannah, somewhat alarmed. "I wonder what I'll be if I do manage to become an Animagus."

"Same," said Harry, nodding in agreement. "What do you think Snape will be doing with us?" He was somewhat apprehensive; he still disliked the Potions Master immensely and the feeling was reciprocated even more intensely.

"I wonder if maybe he might do some kind of invisibility potion – no offence intended, Harry, but it _would_ be better than your Cloak, because you won't be stepping on it and therefore risking being discovered," replied Draco. "Perceptivity, some truth potions, healing potions – _highly_ important! – incapacitating potions, sleeping draughts, maybe Wolfsbane if we're working closely with Lupin, Polyjuice to infiltrate the Death Eaters if necessary…" He then reeled off a long list of specific potions, quite a few of which Harry had never heard of.

"How do you _know_ all of this!" asked Hermione in amazement.

"I love Potions and I'm good at it," he replied simply with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "I'm not top just because I'm Snape's favourite; I _am_ actually _good_ at it." In the past he would have said it in a boastful way, but now he just stated it in a very matter-of-fact, reserved tone. "When I leave school I want to do something involving potion-making; maybe research – some potions used medically have absolutely horrendous side-effects. St. Mungo's are always eager to take on medical researchers. I haven't completely decided yet."

"You're more decided than I am," admitted Hermione.

"And me," added Hannah. She paused, then stared at Hermione in stunned amazement. "You, _Hermione Granger_, haven't decided what you're going to do with your life?"

Hermione shrugged. "I plan on doing something academic, maybe writing books, but I'm waiting for a few things to be sorted. I'm saying no more than that."

"You mean you're trying to decide between a huge number of excellent job offers," Harry interpreted.

Hermione stuck her tongue out at him. "And you?"

Harry turned pink and fell silent, averting his gaze. Three sets of eyes turned on him. "_What_?" he demanded.

"Spit it out, Harry," ordered Hermione. "We know you're hiding something."

"Yeah; you're a _really_ bad liar, Potter," added Draco, smirking.

Harry sighed resignedly. "OK, OK, you got me." He delved into his robes and pulled out a very official-looking envelope with two crossed golden bulrushes on a circle of navy blue, in the top left-hand corner.

"That's the Puddlemere United crest," said Draco slowly, taking the envelope from Harry and easing the parchment out of it. He scanned the letter and almost dropped it. "Flipping _heck_, Potter!"

"_What_?" demanded Hermione impatiently, reaching out for the envelope and attempting to snatch it from Draco's hand. Draco held the letter out of her reach.

"Puddlemere United's Seeker is retiring at the end of this season," Harry informed them.

"And they _only_ want Harry! _Our_ Harry!" added Draco. "I know you're good, but still…"

Harry shrugged, embarrassed. "There's going to be an announcement at the Leaving Feast." He flushed. "It's not _that_ big a deal."

"Yes it is!" retorted Hannah fiercely. "You could well be playing for _England_ one day! You could win us the World Cup!"

"I'm not _that_ good," mumbled Harry uncomfortably, shifting in his seat.

"Harry, I've played against you numerous times and you've _never beaten me_," cut in Draco. "A professional side – a _good_ one at that – want you. I hope you've accepted the offer. They're like gold dust."

"I'll get to see Oliver Wood again; he plays for them," said Harry thoughtfully, thinking of his old captain when he had first come to Hogwarts.

"I bet he'll be over the moon," predicted Hermione. "He'll probably be more intense than ever – if that's possible."

They sat in silence, examining Harry's letter in close detail until Snape swept in. "Good morning. I hope you are not too tired, Draco?"

"I'm fine; all I've been doing is listening to Sirius and McGonagall," answered Draco quickly.

"I suggest you all get out something to write on and with," said Snape briskly. "I am going to give you the recipes for a number of potions today and we will spend the rest of the week making – or attempting to make – them. Pay close attention. If you want me to go over anything, do not hesitate to ask. Ready? Good. First, the Perceptivity Potion, which, when taken, enhances your senses and you can also sense any recent spells performed within a room, or a certain radius when out in the open. One or two Aurors in the past have, I believe, suffered from severe overdoses – Perceptivity is an excellent potion for an Auror to use because it enables them to sense the lingering traces of Dark magic. It will no doubt be invaluable in any battle situation."

He began reeling off the ingredients and procedure, checking that they had everything written down correctly by making each one of them in turn read their work out to him. Each was perfect, with the exception of Draco towards the end, who had found his concentration wandering. Snape allowed a small smile to flicker briefly across his face; Perceptivity was one of the hardest of the potions he would be teaching them. "I know that you learned the theory behind the Polyjuice Potion last year, although I cannot expect any of you to have actually _made_ it…Granger, Potter, what is so amusing?"

For Harry and Hermione had caught each other's eyes and had burst into uncontrollable laughter. Eventually Hermione forced herself to calm down enough to speak, shooting a guilty look at the teacher. "Sorry, Professor Snape. It's just that, well, in our second year, we – that is, Ron, Harry and I – er, we thought that Draco was the heir of Slytherin. Sorry about that," she apologised hastily to Draco, who narrowed his eyes at her. "Anyway, Ron and Harry took the Polyjuice and became Crabbe and Goyle respectively, during the Christmas holidays, to try to find out if Draco _was_ the heir."

"Which I'm _not_," put in Draco. "A sort-of descendant from what I can gather although not directly, yes, but not the _heir_."

"I know that now," said Hermione quickly. "But the point is, Harry and I know what we're doing with the Polyjuice Potion. We – I mean _I_ – took some of your Boomslang skin, that lesson when Harry threw a firework into someone's Swelling Solution as a distraction. Sorry, Professor Snape."

"So _that's_ where it went…" Snape turned away for a moment as he struggled to maintain a stern and forbidding demeanour. He was unable, however, to keep a small expression of pride from his face when he turned back. "Certainly a…_creative_ way of trying to unearth things. I will give you that." He grew serious again. "Back to business. Incapacitating potions. A strong one may well be necessary if you have someone advancing on you with the intention of killing you and the _Impedimenta_ spell has failed to halt them…"

By the end of the session, all four were exhausted, minds whirling with new information that they knew they _had_ to retain and hand aching from frantic scribbling in an attempt to get everything down. They had taken a break halfway through, but it did nothing to prevent Draco from being completely drained. At lunch, he picked at his food, barely eating anything. He wasn't hungry and eating just required too much effort for him to be able to do so.

Hannah watched him and, after a few minutes, decided that enough was enough. "Go and lie down," she ordered. "You'll feel better this afternoon if you rest now." She helped him over to his bed, where he immediately fell asleep. Hannah returned to her seat, her face clearly showing the strain and anxiety she was feeling. "He shouldn't be doing this," she said quietly, despairingly, pushing her hair back from her face. "It's not fair on him. He'll be killed for sure." She had to bite her lip to keep back the tears that threatened. "I'm scared. Not for me, but for him."

The other two remained silent, not knowing what to say.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

Draco seemed somewhat refreshed – and definitely more lively – by the time Lupin and Figg arrived, both carrying swords that had, the teachers informed them, been borrowed from various suits of armour (which, judging by the superficial lacerations on Lupin's cheek, had not taken kindly to this). "Sword skills," Lupin told them cheerfully, as Madam Pomfrey hurried up. "I'm going to bewitch these and your swords –"

"_You_ are going to let me deal with those cuts, _prior_ to bewitching _anything_," interrupted Pomfrey. "Professor Figg can do the bewitching."

Lupin meekly allowed himself to be led away, knowing better than to argue with Poppy Pomfrey.

Figg took over, smiling at the four. "_I_ am going to bewitch the swords so they're blunt and thus can't cause any serious injuries. I wouldn't be too popular with Poppy if I let you get hurt. When the practice is over, I'll remove the spell. You need to be familiar with your own swords. Well, what are you waiting for? Get them out!"

They hurriedly obeyed and Figg placed the charm on each sword in turn. "I wouldn't advise using this spell in combat on your opponent's weapon – they'll only retaliate and put the spell on _your_ sword. Utterly useless in battle." She returned the now-charmed swords to their owners. "Pair up. Boys, go together. Girls, you do the same."

Lupin reappeared at that point, cuts healed. He and Figg demonstrated the basic moves several times and talked the four through them. "Your turn now," he eventually announced. H and Figg watched carefully, warning them to not try to go too fast just yet and to be careful. They corrected where necessary and praised Hannah when she managed to knock Hermione's sword from her hands.

Pomfrey appeared at one point, grumbled a bit and then, seeing that there were no injuries, departed to see to a second-year Hufflepuff girl who had got caught in the crossfire of the violent break-up of a Ravenclaw couple.

Eventually the four collapsed, worn out, to the floor. Lupin and Figg beamed at them. "_Excellent_ start!" Figg told them. "I look forward to doing more with you tomorrow. I must go – I have a third-year class to teach." She hurried off.

Lupin removed the blunting charm from the swords. "Major and serious curses. We need to discuss them. You all need to know them. Sit down and make yourself comfortable – not _too_ comfortable, Harry! You're not going to sleep yet!" he hastily added as Harry settled himself onto the two-person sofa and leaned against Hermione. Harry, feigning annoyance, glared at him before obediently making himself slightly less comfortable.

Lupin handed them each a thick booklet of A4-sized Muggle sheets of paper stapled together. Hannah, who was mildly dyslexic, let out a cry of pleased surprise when Lupin gave her a booklet of lilac, rather than white, paper. "You remembered!"

Lupin nodded. "You said that lilac was a better background for you than white, and you normally write your essays on lilac."

"It was the first spell I learned – the one that turns paper lilac."

"I have a good friend not too far from Hogwarts – Muggle – who let me use his computer to type up and print all of this." Draco, who had been brought up exclusively in the wizarding world, and Hannah, who had only very limited knowledge of the Muggle world and parents that were slow to learn about new Muggle technology, both looked extremely confused. Lupin, with some assistance from Harry and Hermione, attempted to explain what a computer was.

He failed miserably and, after a long time of Hannah and Draco looking steadily more bewildered, gave up. "I want you to read the entire booklet. It contains just about every curse the Death Eaters may use. Severus and I put a lot of work into this, and we don't _think_ that we've left anything out, but please, let me know of any that you know that we've missed. As you can see, I've listed the names of the curses, the incantations, the effects and the counter-curses. _Learn them_. On Wednesday I'll be testing your shields – although from what I've seen in lessons over the last two terms from all four of you, it'll just be a formality. Now get reading."

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

They were worked extremely hard that week. Figg was delighted at their sword-fighting skills, which were improving swifter than her wildest dreams. When Harry commented on his rapidly-developing ability and control over the weapon, she responded with, "The power of the Founders, and their skills, are flowing through you; you do possess their swords, after all."

McGonagall and Sirius had taken them out on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday evening to work on Apparating, as it was a useful skill to have, particularly if they needed to get out of a situation quickly. They were both astounded at the huge amount of progress they had made by the end of Friday's lesson. She promised to arrange for them to take their tests soon. The Animagus transformations impressed her no end – very difficult normally, especially as they had only been studying it for an incredibly short length of time. It was all put down to the powers of the Four Founders.

On the Saturday Harry became the first to completely transform. He was followed swiftly by Hermione, who was not to be outdone, then Hannah, and then finally, on the Monday, Draco succeeded. All four swore afterwards that there had been tears in the eyes of both Sirius and McGonagall, the latter of whom awarded thirty points to each student.

Snape, much as he attempted to mask it, was nevertheless clearly impressed by their abilities in potion-brewing. Draco was still the best out of the quartet, but this was not to be regarded as a negative light upon the other three. The Potions Master was making them learn and make as many potions as their time would allow, setting "homework" on a couple of occasions to see how they coped.

The night Draco had succeeded in transforming, he found himself unable to sleep, so he wandered out of the hospital wing and settled himself on the wide window ledge of the window just outside the hospital wing. The silvery moonlight caught his white-blond hair and pale skin, giving him a ghostly, almost unearthly appearance that would have scared some of the youngest students (and occasionally had done in the past). Although he sat there in his pyjamas and thick dressing-gown as he felt the cold extremely easily, Salazar Slytherin's sword was buckled firmly around his waist.

He would quite willingly admit to his three closest friends and even some of the teachers that he had never been this scared before. It did not, in his opinion, require a rocket scientist – whatever one of _those_ was; it was a phrase Hermione frequently muttered under her breath if she felt that something was simple – to tell him that he would have to fight Voldemort's followers, possibly even his own father, in the next few weeks.

That evening, McGonagall had gravely informed them of the murder of Fudge's wife. The list of murders committed by Death Eaters grew longer daily. Draco idly wondered how many his father and Aunt Bellatrix had been responsible for. Last summer Lucius had boasted about being present at the murders of James and Lily Potter. Even though Draco was somewhat sceptical about _that_ particular claim, it _had_ been the thing that had finally done it for Draco. He had taken the decision to turn against the Dark Side; he had sat listening to his father gloating, growing increasingly sick as the man had continued.

Two nights ago, the nightmares had stolen any restful sleep from him, returning abruptly and violently. Tonight he hadn't even wanted to close his eyes, and even though he knew that he would suffer the nest day, he didn't care. Anything to stop the nightmares; he only used dreamless sleep potion sparingly, due to the addictive nature of the most potent ones.

It was, he noted, a clear, beautiful night as he examined the heavens, the stars twinkling white dots against a dark, almost black, sky, identifying the stars and constellations courtesy of Professor Sinistra. He'd always enjoyed astronomy, even from when he was as young as five. Whenever he had been unable to sleep, he would either go outside into the manor grounds or up to the top of the school's Astronomy tower – where he always took special care to avoid Filch and Mrs. Norris – to simply gaze up at the jewels adorning the night sky.

Darkness had always been his friend, and he often felt some kind of affinity with the stars – each one from Earth a tiny, insignificant dot of white in the vastness of the universe. It was nights like these when he thought deeply about the nature of the universe; was it still expanding, and if so, at what rate? Faster and speeding up all the time? Remaining constant? Slowing down? Was there a point at which it stopped expanding and started contracting instead, everything in it hurtling back towards the pinprick it had once come from, to meet with a Big Crunch, as Muggle physicists had called it? Would there then be another Big Bang, followed by another Big Crunch, repeating, cycling, endlessly? Had there been previous Big Bangs and Big Crunches? If so, how long was the timespan between the Bang and Crunch? How many?

As for the edge of the universe, what was beyond that? What was that like? How would you know when you had crossed the boundary? _Was_ there a boundary? Could you cross it? What about other, parallel universes that supposedly existed?

He allowed himself a wry smile. He often got carried away when he started thinking about such things. His father, he knew, wouldn't approve of such fantastical, dreamy thoughts – but Draco wasn't his father.

This realisation hit him as hard as if every single stone from the Hogwarts castle had slammed into him, and his eyes widened. "I'm _not_ my father," he whispered to himself. "I'm _not_." He knew it sounded ridiculous, should anyone have heard – after all, he knew his name was Draco, not Lucius – but he had been brought up to believe himself to be nothing more than his father's clone, to be of the same mindset and opinions.

He leaned back against the wall, left shoulder resting against the glass in the window, right hand falling to hang by his side, lightly brushing against the lump under his dressing-gown that was the hilt of his sword. It was, he thought, a spectacular view across the grounds and the Forbidden Forest.

"Malfoy? Draco Malfoy?"

Draco jumped, startled out of his thoughts and nearly falling off the window ledge in his surprise. "Blaise! What are you doing up here at…" He glanced at his watch, "…ten past one in the morning?"

"Could ask _you_ the same thing!" retorted Blaise. "Thought you were ill. Can't somehow see Pomfrey letting you out from under her beady eye if you're as ill as everyone says you are." He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at his housemate.

Draco shrugged. "I couldn't sleep. Why are you up here? Most people are in bed at this time – especially _you_. You're usually snoring fit to wake the Gryffindors in their tower by now!"

Blaise tossed his dark head in annoyance, averting his gaze. "I fell out of bed. I think I sprained my wrist."

Draco muttered something under his breath about the nature of other boy's relationship with Pansy Parkinson.

"You want to be careful, Malfoy; you're taking a big risk." His cold, dark stare was piercing as he looked back at Draco.

"Pomfrey will get me out of any trouble with Filch. Plus I _am_ a prefect," replied Draco calmly, turning his head to look out of the window again, yet in such a way that he could still see Blaise. He knew there was some kind of double meaning to his words, but he was too intelligent to let on that he knew about it. "I'd get your wrist seen to, if I were you. The sooner you get it treated, the less long-term damage there is. And you don't want a dodgy wrist, I'm sure. I doubt Pansy would like that…"

"What? Oh. Yeah. That." Blaise abruptly strode off down the corridor to Madam Pomfrey's office. Draco felt himself beginning to feel dozy, so he stood and went back to his bed before he fell asleep on the window ledge. Despite his words to Blaise and his position of prefect that permitted _some_ wandering of the school after curfew, he still felt no desire whatsoever to be caught by the vindictive Squib caretaker and/or his equally nasty cat. Draco liked cats as a rule, but not even the cat-loving Mandy Brocklehurst from Ravenclaw could bring herself to speak good of Mrs. Norris.

Despite his sleepiness, it still took him a long time to fall asleep that night.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

****

TBC

A/N PS: I've recently been informed that we're not meant to do author thanks. However, a number of people asked various questions and so I'm using this space to answer them as it will enhance your understanding of the story.

I suppose you could well think of this as the calm before the storm – which is perhaps worse (Pippin from LOTR certainly thinks so).

Ron, although I haven't explicitly stated but have hinted at, is spending all his time with Parvati Patil. He isn't part of the Assembly and has a very black-and-white perception of the world, unlike Harry and Hermione, so they've drifted apart. I know this is unlikely in Rowling's universe, but you don't know yet – after all, only five of the books are out so far!

The Assembly are completely isolated from the rest of the school. Everyone knows Draco's ill, it's quite plausible that Hermione would have collapsed from overwork, I doubt many would be surprised at the possibility of Dumbledore withdrawing Harry from the school for 'extra training', and as for Hannah, it's entirely possible that she could have collapsed from overwork or need a break from school due to stress.

I am planing on doing a one-shot sort of postscript about the Founders' Assembly (probably in the form of Hermione either writing it herself or reading it somewhere).


	24. NEWT Results

Reaching Maturity

Disclaimer: not mine. Am borrowing and will return.

****

A/N: once again, I shall take this opportunity to remind you that I am working with the A-F grading system that British schools use (OK, OK, I know they use it in Canada, the US and pretty much everywhere else) rather than the ones JKR devised, because I'm lazy and couldn't be bothered to change it all

****

Happy St. George's Day to all my fellow English folks! Get out there and celebrate it and to hell with the political correctness that so many in authority seem severely afflicted with that considers it racist to celebrate our patron saint's day (despite the fact that everyone celebrates St. Patrick's Day, whether they're Irish or not).

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

Chapter 24: NEWT results

McGonagall arrived in the morning to inform them that it had been arranged for them to take their Apparition tests that evening. "I have every faith in you," she assured them with one of her rare smiles. "Mr. Malfoy, if you do not feel up to taking your test with the others, you can take it another time." She was not stupid enough to allow his pallid face and the dark circles under his eyes to go unnoticed, and made a mental note to talk to Madam Pomfrey about it.

He gave her a wan smile. "I'll see how I feel this evening."

McGonagall nodded approvingly at him, then turned to face the four as a whole. "I have done everything I needed to do with you. Come and find me if you have any questions about anything. I shall come and collect you when it is time for your tests. Mr. Malfoy, I suggest you use your free time before Professor Snape comes to rest. Goodness knows you need it, child." Her gaze rested briefly on Draco's thin, pale form before she left. Moments later, Pomfrey appeared, a glass of a sleeping potion in her hand. She handed this to Draco, who was sitting on his bed. "I know you were up and wandering about last night. Drink."

He didn't dare disobey, and was asleep almost immediately. His three friends and Sirius exchanged deeply concerned looks. Hannah, at a loss for anything to do or say, briefly assumed her marmalade-cat Animagus form. When she regained her human form, Sirius grinned at her. "You're a beautiful puss," he remarked.

"Better that than a humongous, scruffy black dog!" retorted Harry in defence of Hannah. "Anyway, Hermione makes a very attractive otter, wouldn't you say?"

Hermione went pink. "This from someone almost as fine as Fawkes!"

"Enough," cut in Sirius. He lay that morning's _Daily Prophet _on the table, his face – still showing clear signs of the twelve years he had spent in Azkaban – suddenly grim. "Remember Igor Karkaroff?"

"Ex-head of Durmstrang," recalled Hermione. "And a Death Eater."

Harry shuddered, paling at the sudden memory of that fateful night in his fourth year that was the final event of the Triwizard Tournament, when Cedric Diggory had died. The night Voldemort had risen again. "Voldemort said he'd get him. I remember his words – 'One, too cowardly to return…he will pay'. I bet that was Karkaroff he was referring to." At Sirius and Hermione's nods, he continued speaking, half-lost in the memories from three years ago. "He also said, 'One, who I believe has left me forever…he will be killed, of course…' – I bet he meant Snape; we know he's on our side –"

"What makes you so sure?" demanded Sirius sharply. "I'll never trust that little –"

"Harry accidentally knocked a bottle of truth potion into his coffee in Potions in sixth year," Hermione hurriedly explained. "It was the last lesson of the day. Naturally, I took advantage of the situation and asked him if he _had_ left Voldemort forever…"

"And he said that he'd rather die than serve him again," finished Harry. "So you _can_ trust him."

"You don't have to _like_ him," added Hermione, knowing full well that that would be asking too much of either man, "but you _could_ be a _little_ easier on him."

Sirius muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, _"When I voluntarily kiss a Dementor"_.

Hermione let out an impatient, irritated noise. "Can't you two just _grow up_?" she demanded. "Behave like mature adults. Especially you, it has to be said – no, I don't want to hear it, Sirius. You're both fighting for _the same side_ for _the same cause_. It is, quite frankly, pathetic, especially for two grown men. Have you ever even apologised to him?"

A pointed silence from Sirius answered her question more than sufficiently.

She decided to try another angle, adopting her lecturing tone. "Look at me, Harry and Draco. _We_ managed it."

"That's different!" Sirius objected immediately.

"_How_, exactly?"

Sirius paused. "Well, it just…_is_."

"You see? It _isn't_!" declared Hermione triumphantly. "You just can't bring yourselves to apologise to each other – and you in particular should be apologising. Do you know how childishly you're behaving with all this constant sniping and bickering and insulting and –"

"Could we…?" cut in Hannah, clearing her throat pointedly and tapping the paper on the table.

"Ah. That. Yes." Sirius nodded. "Karkaroff was found dead yesterday. Suicide. Heard the Death Eaters were going to kill him and had tracked him down to wherever he was hiding – Voldemort, oddly enough, isn't overly pleased with him – but they found him dead. Poison, according to this article. There was a note saying that said Death Eaters had found his hideout."

Sirius stopped speaking and allowed the three to read the article for themselves. "The thing is, if Snape really _is_ on our side – no, don't say anything, Hermione – he really is going to have to watch his back. It's no secret that he's a teacher here at Hogwarts – although I don't think any of them would be stupid enough to do something while he's here at the school. We're all going to have to watch out for him as well as ourselves."

He opened the paper to pages 8 and 9. "There have been a large number of Muggles murdered in the last week. Three drowned in a canal in the middle of nowhere – popular opinion is that they were hikers who were unfortunate enough to be too close to something. Plus there was an explosion at one of the train stations in Birmingham. The Muggle officials have put it down to an IRA bomb. It's quite plausible so Muggles won't suspect anything.

"The lists grows longer every day, Muggles and wizards. _Innocent_ people. Voldemort has to fall for _good _this time. I'm going to commit the murder I did twelve years in Azkaban for. Peter Pettigrew is going to _regret_ the day he betrayed Lily and James." His eyes blazed with pure fury and hatred. "If you meet him, send for me. _I_ want to take him down. Got it?"

The three hastily nodded.

"Good. Now, I understand you all know the Patronus charm?"

"Thoroughly," Hermione assured him. "Our shields are all really strong, and I think we're getting the hang of sword-fighting. And Snape seems impressed by what we've done with regards to potion-brewing, as well."

"It's the power of the Founders," Sirius told her. "You have their most treasured weapons, which themselves have immense power. Most of all, though, you are, all four of you, very powerful witches and wizards. Your individual strengths are different from those of the others and complement each other; that is why you are such a strong group when put together. Voldemort's going to have his work cut out for him if he meets just _one _of you; I wouldn't like to be in his shoes if he encounters all four of you together, especially as one of you is the son of his right-hand man. In fact, he might save the Ministry the hassle of dealing with Lucius Malfoy and kill him himself. No skin off my nose if he does. Or Draco's, I suspect."

"What's going on with Marie-Jeanne Lenoir?" asked Hermione. "It's been a while since anything's been mentioned about her."

Sirius sighed wearily and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I only wish I knew. But I'm stuck here at Hogwarts and in the local vicinity, where I'm far more use than at Grimmauld Place, apparently. I can't afford to be tracking her now; it's too dangerous for everyone involved."

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

"Well?" demanded Sirius impatiently when the four returned with McGonagall shortly before midnight. "How did it go?" He and Lupin had been sitting up waiting for them.

McGonagall beamed. "They passed! All of them. I am absolutely _delighted_. All first attempts, no splinching at all. It was _perfect_. A real treat."

"You did better than your father, then, Harry," commented Lupin, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Took James four attempts, if I remember correctly."

"It did," Sirius confirmed, smirking. "I only needed two attempts."

"_I_ did it first time," Lupin informed them in a quietly superior, lightly mocking tone. Sirius merely stuck his tongue out at him, making the four seventh-years laugh.

"Alright! That's quite enough excitement for one day. Bed, all of you. Now," McGonagall ordered sternly. She smiled as they all tumbled into bed, yawning, fully-clothed, pausing only to remove their shoes. She gently pulled Hannah's covers over her because the girl had been so tired that she had simply fallen asleep on top of the bed. The deputy head had initially been surprised at the Hufflepuff's inclusion, and more than a little doubtful, but now she deemed her as worthy and able as the others.

"Minerva," called Snape softly from the doorway. "Letter." He strode swiftly across the room and handed over the letter that he had been carrying.

McGonagall took it and read it, her face gradually darkening. "Has Albus been informed yet?" she asked in a low voice, ushering him, Lupin and Sirius outside the room and shutting the door firmly. She knew that Harry Potter – and usually Hermione Granger as well – had a habit of overhearing things that were not meant for their ears.

"I was told to bring this to you first, so no."

"Could you fetch him, please, Severus?"

Snape nodded and slipped off noiselessly, melting into the blackness of the shadows. McGonagall turned to face the two Marauders. "It is official. The final war has begun. Students will be informed tomorrow, and sent home. The fifth-years will be receiving their OWL results soon, as will the seventh-years with their NEWTs."

"What about these four?" asked Sirius, gesturing to the room in which the four slept.

McGonagall obligingly produced four envelopes from her pocket along with a list, which she proceeded to read from. "Miss Granger has, of course, come top of her year with straight As. Mr. Potter has all As and Bs. Miss Abbott has one A, a C and the rest are all Bs. Mr. Malfoy has an A in Potions; other than that outstanding result, he has one B, mainly Cs and a D in Care of Magical Creatures, his worst subject. Still, he has performed amazingly well considering how ill he has been for much of the year."

"And still is," remarked Lupin softly, his face serious. "Minerva, I really don't like the idea of sending him into battle in such a fragile state –"

"We have no choice," McGonagall cut him off shortly. "Goodness knows I don't want to have to do it, but we do have to. I dislike the idea as much as you and Severus. But somehow I have the feeling that he will find the strength he needs, even if he's fighting on adrenaline alone."

They were silent after this, until Dumbledore and Snape arrived. "It has begun?" asked the headmaster gravely.

McGonagall nodded tersely. "It has indeed."

"I shall send owls home to every parent tomorrow, and the Hogwarts Express will depart from Hogsmeade station when I have heard from as many parents as I believe I will hear from – the deadline is this Friday. All students will be sent home then, unless parents explicitly inform me otherwise. Combat training in every area is being set up as we speak."

"What about these four?" asked Sirius, gesturing to the room behind him.

"I shall arrange for the Grangers and Abbotts to be moved to Grimmauld Place. The Dursleys will be sent a letter informing them that Harry is staying here for the foreseeable future." Dumbledore paused and sighed heavily. "As for the Malfoys…I really do not know."

"Let's hope Lucius is too preoccupied with fighting for the Dark Lord and hiding Narcissa, as I believe he is doing, to question a letter stating that Draco is still too ill to leave the school, particularly if Poppy were to write it," said Snape. The others nodded their assent.

"I shall begin on writing the letters to parents. Goodnight." With that, Dumbledore departed.

"So this is it," said Sirius quietly. The four stood in silence for a long time before Sirius slipped into the four's room and, as Padfoot, curled up at the bottom of Harry's bed and went to sleep.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

Harry woke first, at about eight-thirty, from a sharp, stabbing pain in his scar. He instantly curled up, moaning in pain. He couldn't recall any particular dream overnight that had caused it, hard though he racked his brains. His movements and moaning woke Sirius, and within moments he was awake and in human form again, cradling his godson in his arms.

"It – it's started, hasn't it?" whispered Harry after a while, when the pain had eased and become nothing more than a slight ache.

Grimly, Sirius nodded. "The owl that we've been dreading came last night. Everyone else is being sent home for protection and to be with their families. I doubt there will be a single wizarding family left untouched by the end." He pulled an envelope out of his pocket. "And McGonagall dropped this off. NEWT results."

Harry's hand shook from sheer nervousness as he took the precious envelope from his godfather. His future career didn't exactly depend on these results by any stretch of the imagination, but he was still dreading them. If he'd done badly…

"All As and Bs? _Seriously_!"

Sirius nodded, grinning.

Harry leapt off the bed in delight but was quickly grabbed by Sirius, who pointed out that the others were still fast asleep and would be unlikely to appreciate being woken. Harry hastily apologised.

It was not long after that that Hannah woke up, followed immediately by Hermione. Sirius gave them their envelopes, which they opened and then squealed earsplittingly in delight, as eighteen-year-old girls getting important exam results are prone to doing. They hugged each other violently, and then Harry and Sirius – and very nearly Madam Pomfrey as well. She merely rolled her eyes and smiled tolerantly as she brought breakfast in, recalling getting her own results ("Of course, we were a _little_ more level-headed about it than you two").

The two girls smiled guiltily. Pomfrey shook her head in amusement. "Well done, all of you. Now, if you'd like to calm down and eat your breakfast…?" They did and she gently awoke Draco, who took his envelope from Sirius and gave the others a wan smile of relief. "At least I passed," he said softly. "I thought I'd failed half of them and done really badly on the rest." Hannah hugged him tightly and helped him to the breakfast table.

Pomfrey was less than impressed by his attempts to eat, and she shook her head sadly. "Child, I worry about you. You were doing so well…"

He shrugged wearily, resignedly, his grey eyes once again filled with that chilling, haunted look, and went back to tearing the uneaten toast into tiny pieces. During breakfast, Sirius had informed them of the latest developments. They now knew with absolute certainty that they would be needed, and soon. Draco was too tired to concentrate enough on the conversation to follow it, so he quietly left the table to go back to bed. Even the thought of eating was making him feel sick, and he was _so_ tired.

Hannah noticed his departure and abandoned her own breakfast, anxious. As she sat down on his bed where he was lying, she noticed the black circles under his eyes and the ashen face with the small beads of sweat breaking out across his forehead. "Draco? What's wrong?" she whispered, gently wiping the sweat away and brushing his hair off his face.

"Don't feel well," he mumbled, too exhausted to divulge further details.

Hannah's heart twisted at this. This was the last thing he – or any of them – needed right now. She gathered him gently into her arms, not saying anything, just holding him comfortingly. She could feel him slowly begin to relax, aware of the hot tears of discomfort, fear and despair that were slipping down his cheeks, knowing him well enough to not comment on it.

The others noticed this after a while, but Sirius quietly warned Harry and Hermione to leave them be. "They don't get much time alone now," he said. "And the way things are in our world are at the moment, they don't know how much longer they have left together. Every second they spend together is precious, priceless." He looked meaningfully at the two in front of him.

Hermione took Harry's hand and squeezed it tightly, earnestly. "We'll defeat Voldemort if it's the last thing we do!" she vowed passionately. The other two laughed at this and she released Harry's hand, standing up. "I'm full. Anyone up for a game of Exploding Snap?"

"Sounds good to me," said Harry, also standing. "I'll get my cards."

He ended up winning quite comfortably. Lupin appeared not long after he had got the cards out, and he joined in – as did Dumbledore, who had come up with the DADA professor. Draco and Hannah slipped out partway through the morning to sit at the window where Draco had encountered Blaise. They sat there in silence, Draco leaning against Hannah's chest, simply enjoying each other's company.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

****

TBC

Additional comments for chapter 23

I know Harry tells McGonagall in OotP that he wants to be an Auror, but given the choice between being an Auror and being a professional Quidditch player, somehow I suspect he'll go for the Quidditch and probably train as an Auror at a later date, when he retires from Quidditch. Maybe.

I deliberately did it so that people wouldn't think the four members of the Assembly are actually together. They might suspect that Harry and Hermione are spending some time together, and that Draco and Hannah are probably together, but it's unlikely that anyone would think of all four being together. Which is good and invaluable.

In the middle of this chapter I talk about the four completely transforming. I deliberately didn't state their Animagus forms because I wanted to leave you all hanging, wondering what I was going to make them. In 24 (this one), all is revealed.

I'm not going to comment on Blaise's motives for what he said to Draco.

The part about the stars was written a couple of days after I'd had that conversation with my dad.


	25. Departure From Hogwarts

Reaching Maturity

**Disclaimer:** I've put a disclaimer at the start of every chapter preceding this one; do I really need it? I do? Oh well. Not mine. If they were, do you honestly think I'd be posting on slight reference to a scene between Pippin and Gandalf in the RotK movie (it's probably in the book as well, but I haven't read it for a while so I can't remember if it is or not). That's not mine either, BTW.

**Author's whinge:** the above sentence is nonsense but that's because it won't upload properly AND the stupid QuickEdit isn't saving the changes, EVEN THOUGH THAT'S ITS JOB.

**Caroline: **there is a letter on its way to you in the post about last Sunday's Late Evening Service at my church (did I tell you what it was about/why I really wanted to go? I can't remember).

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

Chapter 25: Departure from Hogwarts

The students were sent home on the Thursday. Some from years that hadn't had important external exams had already left, called home by anxious and scared parents. These students were mainly from families that were at least part-wizarding. Now, though, none remained at Hogwarts save for the four members of the Assembly, and they watched the rest of their friends, housemates and fellow students go from the Transfiguration classroom window.

"So. It's just us now," stated Harry. Draco nodded dazedly. Both of them were filled with a sense of unrealness, as though it wasn't really happening, as if it were a dream.

"This is when things _really_ start to hit home," said Hannah softly, sitting down on a nearby desk and swinging her legs idly. She didn't feel eighteen; she felt more like a small child that had no control over her world. She didn't like it at all. It scared her. Her hand unconsciously strayed to the sword that hung at her waist, and rested there on the hilt.

"We never did find out whom this supposed student Death Eater was," mused Hermione, running her fingers over a teapot that had been used in an exam. The aim, she recalled (if it was the same exam she had done), was to Transfigure the teapot into a tortoise. Clearly McGonagall had returned all of the teapots to their original form.

"We probably never will now," said Draco. "Not even if one of us faces them in battle, because some more will join tonight and in the days to come." He had recovered from his minor relapse the previous day – having gone to bed at four the previous afternoon and slept soundly for seventeen hours, he felt much better. Not that it meant he had to _like_ it, of course. Which he didn't. At all.

Hermione turned her attention to the teapot she had been examining, and transfigured it into a tortoise and back again, numerous times, to relieve her boredom. They were all at a loose end, not knowing what was going on or what to do with themselves. All of them felt that, much as they hated preparing for a battle, the waiting and not knowing was far, far worse.

Hannah, still swinging her legs, began humming tunelessly as she gazed out of the window at the school drive, where the last of the carriages was now disappearing from. Harry rubbed his scar, which was aching again, and Draco picked up his sketchbook and pencils, attempting to capture the scene in front of him of the other three engrossed in their various activities.

"So what do we do now?" Harry inquired, removing the teapot from under Hermione's wand as the tortoise was acquiring a rather dazed look by now. He felt sorry for the poor thing; _it must be getting really confused by now_.

Draco glanced up from his drawing to see Lupin standing in the doorway. He jumped slightly. "Professor?"

"We aren't staying at Hogwarts any longer. The Headmaster feels that Voldemort and his followers may attempt to take the school as long as we – or, more specifically, _Harry_ – remains inside," answered Lupin gravely.

"What about all our things?" asked Hermione. "All our books and so on."

"Books stay here. You won't be needing them and you can get them later, when all this is over. Plus the place we're going to has most of them anyway, as well as plenty of others. We'll be going to my home; there's plenty of room for everyone with space left over. Go up to your room and sort out all your clothes and belongings. Sirius is up there. He'll tell you what to bring and what to leave. You won't want things like dress robes; there won't be anything fancy that requires them. If things go well, you can collect them at a later date." He looked at the girls. "Forget skirts and dresses; they're impractical. Transfigure them into trousers if you want to take them. And for goodness' sake keep your wands and swords close to hand _at all times_." He hurried off.

The four faced each other, fear beginning to rise. This sudden urgency was making it more real, more frightening. Draco shoved his sketchbook and tools into his robes. "Let's go."

In scared silence they hurried up to the hospital wing, where they were met by Sirius. "You've each got one rucksack. Put your stuff out on your bed. Pack _nothing_ until I say you can. Harry, take your Cloak." His tone was brisk, businesslike.

The packing ended up taking over two hours. Hermione spent the best part of fifteen minutes persuading Sirius – and Lupin, who had appeared by now – to let her take a few small books "for evening distraction". He agreed in the end, mainly because it was the only way to get her to drop the subject. Draco had far less trouble when he asked if his art materials would be allowed. Hannah had her suspicions that Pomfrey had spoken to Sirius about the issue.

Finally, they were ready. They had their lunch (late) and spent the afternoon wandering around the castle and the grounds, saying goodbye to everything, not knowing when – _if_ – they would see it all again. Tea was a picnic with the teachers, Sirius and Hagrid down by the lake. Even the giant squid seemed to sense the occasion, and it lay on the shore, enjoying being tickled by the four students and some of the less reserved members of staff, such as Hagrid and Professor Flitwick.

"Yeh'll be alrigh'," said Hagrid confidently. "We've got the giants on our side now, 'swell as a few other sorts that were undecided. You-Know-'Oo, 'e's too confident. Too arrogant, I reckon."

"Perhaps," said Sprout cautiously. "Don't _you_ go getting overconfident, Hagrid. That will do us no good at all; who would lead the giants?"

"Lupin, you mentioned setting up the cellar for potion-brewing?" cut in Snape from where he sat at the edge of the group. Harry noticed that he was looking extremely strained and tired, and he hoped that Snape would be able to hold out. Much as he disliked the teacher, he didn't want him to die.

"All set up as you requested," Lupin confirmed. He tossed a key to Snape, who deftly caught it. "That's the key for the cellar. Keep it locked when you're not in there. It's not that I don't trust anyone, but should anyone from outside come in, it's just a bit of extra security. _Don't_ lose it; there's no masterkey, and _alohomora _doesn't work on it. That key and my own are bewitched so that the lock recognises them and rejects all others. You can't be too careful at the moment."

"Could we not have used one on Lockhart?" said Snape. "Locked _him_ in your cellar. It would have made things _far_ easier. Potter, Granger, is it true that he set a cageful of Cornish pixies loose in your lesson?"

Harry and Hermione visibly cringed as they remembered that dreadful lesson from their second year. Lockhart had left Harry, Hermione and Ron to clear up while he disappeared. "_Please_ don't remind us of that!" pleaded Hermione, desperately hoping her face was not turning red as she recalled the crush she (and most of the girls in Hogwarts at that time) had had on the inept man.

"My apologies, Miss Granger. I merely wished to have the rumour confirmed or denied."

Dumbledore glanced round at the group and got to his feet, facing them all. The others fell silent. "I think," the headmaster announced wearily and gravely, "that it is time we moved. You are all dispersing to your allocated areas of the country. Hagrid, where is you are off to?"

"Eastern Europe again," replied Hagrid. "There are a few giants that are waitin' to hear news from me." He went over to the four students. "Good luck. I'll be thinkin' of yeh until I see yeh again." He hugged Harry and Hermione tightly, then Hannah, before he held out his massive hand to Draco. "Yeh'll be someone we can be proud of, Mr. Malfoy. Good luck."

Draco smiled at him. "Sorry for everything I did for most of my time here. And – and thanks. Good luck yourself."

"Those of you who are not travelling to Remus' house, no doubt we shall see you in time," said Dumbledore gravely. "Students, collect your rucksacks from where Poppy will have placed them in the Entrance Hall. We will walk to Hogsmeade and then Apparate to Remus' home. Goodbye, everyone else." He turned and walked back to the castle. The weight of the world seemed to be resting on his shoulders, and he truly appeared old and weary for a brief moment.

The four students remained behind long enough to say their final farewells. There were definitely tears in Sprout's eyes, as much as she tried to force them back, and Sinistra was openly crying. Eventually the Assembly turned their backs on the teachers who were not going to Lupin's, and were in Hogsmeade half an hour later, along with Sirius, Lupin, McGonagall and Snape. They met Dumbledore there.

A few _pops_ later, they were at Lupin's, in his kitchen. It overlooked a reasonable-sized, slightly wild-looking garden. Lupin explained the sleeping arrangements. Dumbledore, Snape and McGonagall were to have their own rooms; Sirius and Lupin were to share a room; Hermione and Hannah were to share a room; and Harry and Draco were to share the attic room.

That explained, Lupin made hot drinks and then Dumbledore ordered them off to bed – adults included, much to the amusement of the younger four. They were undeniably tired, however, and did not dare argue. Three of them fell asleep almost before their heads had hit the pillow, but Hannah remained awake for a considerable length of time, doubting her worthiness in this. She was, after all, only a Hufflepuff, one of the 'duffers' that the rest of the school viewed them as. What if she failed? What if she let the others down? What if people died because of her?

She voiced these fears and anxieties to Dumbledore when he checked on her and Hermione.

"Poppycock, Miss Abbott. If you were not worthy, Helga Hufflepuff's sword would not have taken to you in the way it has done. You trust me, do you not?"

Puzzled, Hannah nodded, and the Headmaster continued. "Then trust me when I say that you are indeed worthy." He stood up, slipping silently out of the room. Hannah, somewhat comforted, soon fell into a deep and restful sleep.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

"Up! Now!"

"Wha?" from an only-slightly-awake Harry.

"What's happened?" Draco was already up and getting out of bed. "_Lumos_." He glanced at his watch, squinting at it in the light of his wand. "Sirius, it's _five-thirty in the morning_!" He glared at his cousin; in his haste, he was already half-dressed.

Sirius tapped the window – the boys, up in the attic room, had an excellent view. "Look."

The two boys went over to the window, Harry stumbling over the shoes he had discarded the previous night.

"Isolated farmhouse, although Remus tells me that the old bloke that lives there was never a farmer. Very odd man, by all accounts."

Both boys felt their blood run cold at the sight that greeted their eyes. There was the unmistakable sight of the Dark Mark hanging menacingly over where there had once been a building.

"Remus is waking the girls. Grab some toast from the kitchen."

"Wait a moment; what's going on?" asked a still-sleepy, bewildered Harry, running a hand through his messy black hair in an attempt to flatten it slightly. He didn't want Hermione to see him wearing the just-got-up look.

"We're going over there to investigate," was Sirius' brisk response as he left the room.

Ten minutes later they were all dressed and had Apparated to the scene of the incident, the Dark Mark looming mockingly above them. The farmhouse itself was no longer; it had been reduced to a mere heap of stone and rubble.

"I – I think we've found the victim," said Hermione shakily, pointing to a crushed, bloody foot sticking out from under a pile of rubble.

Sirius and Lupin silently cleared away some of the stone. "No family," said Lupin softly, sadly. "Nobody to mourn him or to notice that he no longer exists." He and Sirius continued shifting away the rubble with the help of Harry and the girls. Draco wandered off to the other end of the remains of the building, knowing that he would be more a hindrance than a help. He idly kicked at a few loose stones – and then froze.

The stones he had kicked away had revealed a hand.

A hand clutching a wand.

Feeling slightly sick, Draco crouched down and, hand shaking, placed his first two fingers over the pale wrist.

Nothing. Hands trembling now, he slowly cleared away the stones to reveal more of the body. The arm was covered by black robes, and as he worked on the clearing, the torso and face were revealed. The face was covered by a mask.

A Death Eater mask.

Draco shivered, though the early morning air was far from chilly. He suddenly did not want to remove the mask, to identify the dead Death Eater, but he knew that he had to – the others were involved in removing the rubble from the old man.

"Marcus Flint," he said aloud, voice shaking.

Lupin looked up at the sound of his voice and came over to him. "Draco?"

"Marcus Flint," replied Draco, indicating the man's form. "He's dead."

"The Aurors will be here soon. We'll leave it to them. Come on. Let's rejoin the others. There's nothing more we can do except leave a note or something to tell the Ministry that we were here. No doubt they'll want to talk to us."

Draco nodded and allowed himself to be led away. He had mixed feelings about the discovery – he had known Flint a long time and they had been on the Slytherin Quidditch team together, yet he despised the other now and in some way was relieved that he was gone. He was relieved when they returned to Lupin's; he was already tired from the early morning excursion.

"Back to bed if you want," Lupin said. "Nobody else is up yet. Draco, you look worn out."

Harry and Draco both took up this advice and promptly returned to bed. The girls, now they were awake, decided to stay up, so Lupin made hot chocolate for everyone sitting around the kitchen table.

"I – I – I've never seen a dead body before," confessed Hannah, blinking back tears and gratefully accepting the steaming mug from Lupin that had melting marshmallows on the top.

"You never really get used to it, from what I can gather," Lupin told her, sitting down at the table. "Even if it _is_ an enemy. Though I confess that I wouldn't mind seeing Lucius Malfoy dead. Nastiest Slytherin around while I was at school, marries the very attractive – and very rich – Narcissa Black, ensures that he has a son to carry on his line, and then proceeds to cause that poor child of his all sorts of torment."

"And he's as evil as hell," put in Sirius.

"If not more so," added Hermione grimly, pushing her hair back from her face. "The trouble is, a simple Avada Kedavra is too good for him."

"Too right!" Hannah vehemently concurred. "A nice long period of Cruciatus so he gets just the faintest notion of the pain he inflicted on Draco, interspersed by the most painful hexes and curses, legal _and_ illegal, that any one individual can inflict on him!" Her voice had risen as she spoke and her normally serene blue eyes were blazing. "That man is going to _pay_!" She jumped to her feet, her chair falling back and clattering to the floor.

Everyone else around the table was rather taken aback by this outburst – Hannah had _never_ lost her temper before. She had the reputation of being the calmest, most sweet-tempered person in the school. After a few moments, she realised what she had just done and, face pink from embarrassment, hastily righted her chair and sat down again. "Sorry," she apologised. "But I _loathe _that man with every molecule of my being. Could we have breakfast now, by any chance?"

"Only if you help get it ready," answered Lupin, getting to his feet. "I'll see if any of the others want anything."

"I'll handle Snape," said Sirius immediately.

"I don't think –"

"No need for that," said a cold voice from the doorway. "And I believe, _Black_, that I also have a first name."

"One that's two syllables longer than your surname!" retorted Sirius.

"As is yours, yet people still call you by _your_ first name."

Sirius could think of no witty response, so he resorted to sticking his tongue out at Snape. Hermione exchanged exasperated looks with Hannah. Snape rolled his eyes wearily. "Will you _never_ grow up, Black?"

Sirius opened his mouth to defend himself, but McGonagall walked in at that moment. "Am I down to do the cooked breakfast?"

"If you're offering," said Sirius agreeably.

"Then allow me to teach you to, Mr. Black. Come on."

Everyone watched with great interest as Sirius attempted to follow the Deputy Head's instructions. During this time, Harry and Draco came downstairs to join the rest. Fortunately, there were no major mishaps, apart from some scrambled egg that ended up on the floor. That was quickly dispersed by a flick of McGonagall's wand.

An owl soared into the kitchen at that point and landed on McGonagall's shoulder. She took the letter from it and opened it. Her shoulders fell. "My sister is to be involved in the fighting on the front line," she announced.

"She'll be fine," said Hermione reassuringly. "You have to believe that."

"Hopefully it'll be the Death Eaters that go," said Harry.

"What happened this morning?" asked Dumbledore sharply.

Lupin briefly explained what had happened. As he finished, another owl appeared, this time for Dumbledore. It remained only long enough to take some of Harry's bacon. Dumbledore opened the letter and read it carefully, his face growing more and more grave. "We have today to prepare for the battle. Tonight is to be the final showdown."

A grim silence descended on the room as they all absorbed this news.

"May I suggest a day of rest in preparation for tonight?" said McGonagall, looking pointedly at Draco. He was unaware of this, however; he was engrossed in that morning's edition of _The Times_, attempting to grasp the rules of cricket. He was failing miserably and made a mental note to ask Harry or Hermione later.

"I'm going to read," announced Hermione, standing up and taking her empty plate over to the sink.

"_Such_ a surprise," Draco drawled teasingly. Before this year this would have provoked either Harry or Hermione into taking a violent swing at him – Hermione had done so emphatically in their third year – but that was in the past. Now she merely stuck her tongue out at him. He responded likewise and he picked up his glass of apple juice, holding it threateningly above her head, tilting it dangerously, a wicked grin on his thin, ashen face.

"Don't you _dare_!" she shrieked, ducking away from him, wand aimed at him. "I can deflect it back into your face, you know!"

"You're no fun, Granger."

Hermione shrugged and left the room, smirking. Draco went up to his room to get some more sleep. Harry and Hannah played chess at the kitchen table. Neither was able to concentrate on the game, however, and Harry was defeated in about fifteen minutes. The rest of the day was spent making final preparations, such as McGonagall preparing enough food for ten armies, just hanging around or sleeping, until about seven that evening, when Dumbledore announced that it was time to leave.

The four students exchanged scared looks. There was a tight knot in Harry's stomach. Draco was visibly trembling. Hermione was extremely tense. Hannah felt physically sick and absolutely terrified.

"Ready?" asked Dumbledore seriously. At the nods of confirmation he received from everyone, he smiled grimly. "Then we Apparate."

A few moments later, they were standing on the edge of a thicket of trees and were met by Arthur Weasley. He was grim and weary. "There are Death Eaters here already, and there are more on the way," he told them. There _are_ some security precautions that we've taken, so we're immediately made aware of any new presences –"

He paused as a _pop_ was heard nearby and a dark, hooded figure hurried by, apparently oblivious to their presence. The gathered crowd were silent, holding their breath until it was safe to release it. They withdrew into the trees as more dark figures slipped by. Following a signal from Snape, they followed the hooded figures. Harry and Draco exchanged looks. It did not need to be said that the cloaked figures were Death Eaters.

Harry wondered who they were. Rosier, Macnair, perhaps the Lestranges… How many were those that had been recruited since Voldemort's resurrection? Was Lucius Malfoy one of the Death Eaters that had just hurried by? Draco was clearly thinking along the same lines, if the expression on his face was anything to go by. The older boy was tense, pale, his face set, lips pressed tightly together, wand gripped tightly in his right hand (he found it easier to hold it in his right hand when he had his sword, on which Snape had placed a featherweight charm), left hand lightly placed around his sword. He was ready for battle.

"We should advance now," said Dumbledore quietly.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

**TBC**

**Responses to chapter 24**

It really is about time Sirius and Severus grew up – they _are_ 37, after all! I did say before that it's not just the Assembly who reach maturity, so there may be hope for them yet. On the other hand, they may not!

I contemplated changing the grading system to the one JKR uses, but in the end I was lazy and just really couldn't be bothered. So I didn't.

I've got the whole 32 chapters typed up on my computer; they're just waiting to be posted. I finished typing them up ages ago; I think round about when I was posting the very early chapters. However, I knew when I first started posting that I would have placements coming up and that in all likelihood I'd have to live away during the week (I always come back to Lancaster at weekends) so I got into a habit of posting once a week. At the moment I'm on placement and because I have no Internet access in the week, I can only post at weekends. I'm halfway through placement now. Everyone is COMPLETELY MAD but lovely with it and I can feel that I'm developing and improving.

I'm not telling you whether I'm going to kill off any of the good guys – although those of you who know me well can probably guess whether or not I will!

I'm in the process if writing both Lupin's 18th, which I hope will be an amusing read, and the details about the Founders' Assembly – which is no longer a one-shot! It'll be 2 or 3 chapters.


	26. On the Battlefield

Reaching Maturity

Disclaimer: guess what? I have news for you – I don't own them. Oh – can I claim Lupin's sister, to whom there is a passing reference? After all, JKR has never mentioned any siblings for him!

****

Author comments from chapter 25:

I know the final battle appears very quickly and that they have very little time to "stew" (to quote riob), but that wasn't the way this story was going. I wanted them to feel somewhat unprepared – because in a real battle you _don't_ know when you're going to have to suddenly drop everything and get out there. This was one with very little "stewing" time. I could probably write a decent "stewing" scene; I just didn't particularly want to.

There's some upcoming Draco-angst in relation to his feelings towards his father (and how he feels about others' feelings towards the man). And no, Sirius and Severus _still_ haven't grown up!

As for the business with Flint, I'm not commenting on whether the house simply collapsed on him (he's not exactly bright so could quite easily have not thought about getting out until it was too late) or whether there's something more in it. As for the close proximity to Lupin's house and whether it's a coincidence or not, that's for you readers to make up your minds about. Bear in mind who the author is! Regarding the comment from CloudofDreams about the possibility of Narcissa being at the farmhouse, that would have been a particularly unpleasant twist – but one that never crossed my mind. I shed no tears over bumping off Flint, I must confess!

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

Chapter 26: On the Battlefield

The atmosphere at the battle site was like nothing Harry had ever experienced before. He could sense the Dark magic, even without any Perceptivity Potion. It was almost impossibly tense, and electric to the point where Harry could feel the hairs on his arms and on the back of his neck prickle. The hostility in the air caused every last molecule of his being to be alert, tense, watchful. The very air seemed to be suffocating.

The moment they stepped out from the trees, the Dark witches and wizards were upon them. Harry found himself fighting at a level he had never had to fight at before; he was fighting not just for his life, but for the future of the whole wizarding world. They all were. He was even unaware of a slight burning in his scar, so focused on the task in front of him was he. He hit Death Eaters with Stunning Spells and Body Binds, not being willing to take anyone's life unless he had no other choice.

He was suddenly aware of someone behind him, and he spun round to come face-to-face with a woman cloaked in black and sword in hand. A broken wand stuck out from her pocket. "Well, well, well. If it isn't Harry Potter," she said mockingly. "Priscilla Nott. _Honoured _to meet the pathetic halfblood child that brought about the downfall of my master." She raised her sword, and Harry suddenly found Godric Gryffindor's sword in his hand.

Priscilla laughed scornfully. "I can't imagine you've ever laid hands on a sword before today. Did Auntie and Uncle never teach you? Poor, deprived boy." Her face, devoid of any mask, darkened into a scowl of pure hatred. "Not that their wretched nephew would ever have a chance of success, even with all the training in the world." She lunged at him suddenly, but Harry was prepared, and he calmly stepped aside. As he focused on the looming fight, everything around him seemed to fall silent and fade into shades of grey, hazy and unclear. It was just him and Priscilla, fighting, the only sounds penetrating his ears being the clash of metal on metal and the woman's taunts.

He braced himself as she pulled free of their locked swords and aimed for him, wondering why she did not use her wand. He could feel the power of Gryffindor himself flowing through the sword and into him, the rubies glowing with magical energy, even though the sky above was dreary and overcast, beginning to darken. Harry was filled with a feeling that he would never tire, as though he could fight Priscilla Nott for eternity and never grow weary.

Priscilla suddenly fell forward, sword still locked in Harry's. Harry wrenched his free as she landed, face down onto the damp ground, sword still gripped tightly in her hands. Hermione stood behind her, wand out and a grim, satisfied expression on her face.

"What did you do?" asked Harry, beginning to breathe hard and rapidly as the effects of the exertion caught up with him.

"Body Bind and Stunning," answered Hermione briefly. "I'll dump her by the hedge where the Aurors can pick her up. _Mobilicorpus_!" She skilfully directed the woman's still form over to said hedge and let her drop to the ground, not particularly gently.

"Thanks," said Harry gratefully.

"No problem." She gave him a quick, tight hug. "Come on; we need to get back out there. We should save hugs and kisses for when the battle's won."

"You're confident."

"We have to be; we won't have a hope in hell of winning otherwise."

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

Hermione raced over to where she had seen a Ministry wizard battling a huge, hulking Death Eater. All thoughts of Harry were swiftly put to the back of her mind; he was somewhere else now.

The Death Eater's mask, Hermione noticed as she drew closer, was not well-placed, and after one spell the Ministry wizard flung at him, the mask slipped, revealing an older version of Gregory Goyle. _Goyle Senior_, Hermione thought to herself, shuddering at the thought. He looked as dim and gormless as his son. From the shadows, she levelled her wand at Goyle senior, muttering, "_Incendio_". Goyle immediately let out a yell as his wand burst into violent flames and he dropped it. Dumbly, he watched it burn.

Hermione used that opportunity to Stun him before turning to the Ministry wizard. "Are you OK?" she asked him. He nodded and they parted. There was no time to linger; that was when injuries and fatalities happened. As she ran across the field, she had to dodge badly-aimed curses to avoid being hit. Somewhere, her friends and teachers were out there, fighting for their lives. Some could even have fallen by now –

****

No, Hermione! she scolded herself. _Focus, focus, **focus**!_

And then she found herself forced into a duel with another Death Eater. After dodging and ducking a few curses, she remembered her shield. She knew hers would be strong. Concentrating hard, she muttered the spell and created her shield. A curse hit her shield and was dispersed, confirming that said shield was indeed in place, and was strong.

Her opponent looked suitably startled as they (Hermione couldn't be sure of the person's sex) found their curses were bouncing off Hermione and not harming her at all, instead deflecting back in their own direction. Confused and scared, the Death Eater turned and fled, directly towards a waiting Auror. Hermione suspected that the Death Eater was young and inexperienced in hand-to-hand combat.

There wasn't time to stop and revel in that victory, though. Hermione plunged herself straight back into battle.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

Hannah wasn't in her human form. Together, she and McGonagall were working as a team in their respective cat forms. They had their method down perfectly by now, launching themselves, claws outstretched, at any Death Eater attacking one of the Light side. It certainly surprised the Death Eaters, one cat on their shoulders, the other on their back, dragging them down to the damp ground. It was beginning to rain lightly. Once the Death Eater was down, McGonagall would transform and Stun them.

Hannah managed to pull back the hood of one Death Eater, revealing Pansy Parkinson's father, who was assaulting Mundungus Fletcher. Mr. Parkinson frantically attempted to fight off the two cats, but they only dug their claws in further. McGonagall took the lead, and the two communicated in catspeak. As far as anyone else was concerned, they were just two cats that had strayed onto the battlefield. Hannah forced herself to remain focused and alert.

She was startled when a huge black dog suddenly appeared in front of her. Her feline instincts told her to run, but then she recognised the dog for who it really was – Sirius. He motioned for her and McGonagall to follow him into the woods, where they transformed back into their human forms. "Our trackers have indicated that Lucius Malfoy, Wormtail and Lenoir are all here," he informed them in a low voice.

"Trackers?" asked Hannah, confused.

"Devices that track who's on the battlefield at any one time. Quite a few of us have got them. I thought you'd want to know about those three."

"We do," said McGonagall briskly. "Thank you, Black."

"We ought to get back. Good work, by the way."

They silently transformed once again, Sirius going one way, and Hannah and McGonagall another.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

"Where's your gear?"

"What?"

"Your gear. You know – mask, cloak, all that stuff?"

Draco, who had been silently observing the battle from the edges of the battlefield in his fox form until a few minutes previously, had felt someone grab his arm and haul him round. The tall figure was in Death Eater robes, mask covering his face. Draco recognised the voice and his eyes widened. "_Zabini!_" he hissed, partly in anger, partly in shock. "_You_ were the Death Eater in amongst the students!"

Zabini pulled his mask off, revealing a twisted smirk. "Oh yes. I think it's now…oh, just over two years ago since my initiation. My father's sixteenth birthday present to me. Definitely the best one I've ever had." His eyes glittered maniacally as he regarded Draco mockingly, pitifully. "You don't seem to be with us, though. I must say I'm surprised. Why, Draco?"

"Because I don't believe in all that purebloods-only insanity any more," replied Draco coolly. "And neither should you. I honestly thought you had enough brains in your head to see through all the lies. Clearly, I was mistaken. You're all masochistic sheep! I refuse to have any part in it. And if I learned nothing else in my final year at Hogwarts, Zabini, I learned who my true friends are – and they sure as hell aren't any of Voldemort's followers."

"You've picked the wrong side to fight for, Malfoy," sneered Zabini. "There's a price on your head since your defection. A _big_ price. Every single Death Eater is out hunting you down, desperate to bring you in to face justice in front of our Lord – Greg, Millicent, Vince, myself…even your own _father_. Face it, Malfoy – you're screwed. Completely and utterly. I can't wait to bring you in…The praise and glory I'll get as my reward…" His face took on a dreamy look.

Draco shrugged easily. "You think my father hunting me down – _anyone_ from your side hunting me down, come to think of it – is news to me? Of course my father's after me! Do you really think I'm stupid enough to not realise it! My father was probably the first one to sign up to my murder. He was probably the one who suggested it. Backed by my batty Aunt Bella, naturally. It doesn't really worry me, to tell you the truth. Of course, you're probably going to try to kill me first, before anyone else gets a chance to take all the glory and whatever else Voldemort has promised the successful one – and who could blame them? _I_ wouldn't."

He calmly, detachedly, watched Zabini's dark eyes flicker with annoyance. He knew the other boy too well, and Zabini hardly knew him at all. **_Not_** the best of situations to be in from Zabini's perspective, thought Draco idly. He watched impassively as the Death Eater reached for his wand. Draco, naturally, knew where Zabini kept his wand. There was very little Draco did not know about his fellow students – and particularly the Slytherins – and what he didn't know was, quite frankly, not worth knowing. He had spent six and a half years (this last year didn't really count, due to illness) discreetly observing everyone. _Know thy enemy and all that_. Knowledge, Lucius had constantly told him throughout his eighteen years of existence, was power. It had come in useful countless times.

Draco felt his left hand on Salazar Slytherin's sword and he drew it out swiftly, neatly slicing Zabini's wand in two in one clean stroke, smiling calmly as the end dropped onto the grass underfoot. His own wand in his right hand now, Draco nonchalantly Stunned his former classmate. "Bad move, Zabini," he murmured softly, slipping the sword back into its scabbard before transforming back into his fox form and returning to his observing. He was aching to be out there in the thick of the battle – there were few things Draco Malfoy loved more than being right at the heart of a conflict – but he knew better than to risk it in his condition. Ten minutes of fighting and he'd collapse and then be murdered. He loved being in a conflict, but he loved his life rather more.

As he watched, he caught an occasional glimpse of his friends and Hannah engrossed in their own personal battles, which they were winning. It was not, however, looking quite as good for everyone. He saw many fall – Aurors, students, Death Eaters and others – but was unable to determine whether the battle was faring good or ill. He desperately hoped it was the former. Mediwizards and mediwitches were in amongst the fighting, treating the wounded and for the most part being left unharmed, except for when a spell went astray. He thought he saw Madam Pomfrey a few times, but was too far away to be sure. He hoped she would survive this war; during his lengthy stay in the hospital wing, he had come to see her as a substitute mother (and one far better than his own had ever been).

His thoughts turned back to Blaise Zabini, hopefully collected by Aurors by now and taken to Azkaban. He did _not_ want to encounter his father here tonight, if at all possible. Despite what he had said to Zabini, it had been bravado and nothing more. He was scared, more than he had ever been scared before.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

"What's this – an Abbott fighting?" inquired a sneering voice from behind Hannah. It was growing late and the night had fallen. "I thought you and all your pathetic Hufflepuff friends all ran away from confrontation. Too cowardly."

"Then you thought wrong, Narcissa," replied Hannah coldly as she turned to face the owner of the voice. Helga Hufflepuff's sword was gripped tightly in her hands, and the look in Narcissa's eyes told her that this would be a fight to the death. Two would not come away from this alive. At the same time, Hannah knew in her heart that if any harm were to come to her, especially death, the woman in front of her would be hunted down by her son. This was a battle Hannah had to win. There would be no margin for error. One slip and she would pay with her life.

Moonlight gleamed off the sword in Narcissa's hands. Suddenly, she swung it in a graceful arc, aiming to bring it down upon Hannah's head and cleave it in two.

Hannah blocked it. She was expecting Narcissa to fight dirty. Lupin's voice rang clearly in her mind – _"Expect the unexpected"._ She twisted out of Narcissa's hold, forcing the woman's sword upwards. Narcissa threw her a look of pure hatred and swung at Hannah's side.

Hannah twisted away just in time, bringing her sword around to meet Narcissa's. This time Narcissa pulled away and pointed the tip of her sword at Hannah's chest, lunging at the girl. Hannah brought her sword across her chest and with a sudden surge of power that she later put down to Helga Hufflepuff's power, somehow (she could never remember) blocking the sword's progress into her chest and forcing the blade down, to embed itself into the soft, muddy ground.

"You_ are_ aware that_ I _am the one that will prevail, I hope?" inquired Narcissa patronisingly. "You _have_ read the script?" She sliced abruptly at Hannah's waist.

Hannah ducked a split second before the sword was due to hit. She heard it whistle over her head. "Sorry to inform you, but there _is_ no script. I'm writing it as I go along. Oh, and I wouldn't do that again if I were you." She got to her feet again.

Narcissa swiftly produced her wand from her pocket and smirked triumphantly, pointing it directly at Hannah's heart. "_Crucio_," she whispered, cold eyes glittering cruelly.

As the words passed Narcissa's lips, Hannah felt something lift her sword and bring it down in front of her, deflecting the Unforgivable harmlessly onto a tree, before bringing it up underneath the outstretched wand and slicing it in two. It was now useless.

Narcissa let out a howl of anguish. "You wicked girl!" she shrieked, swinging the sword around wildly now, as though she was possessed by a demon. Hannah had to dodge and deflect some of the strokes, but many were nowhere near her.

It happened in a flash.

Narcissa swung the sword, uncontrolled, at Hannah. The blow clashed with Hannah's sword as she struggled to deflect it.

Narcissa's sword was ripped from her hands and spun wildly in the air. It fell back towards Narcissa.

She froze as it somehow cut into her side, coming to rest, embedded, in her middle, near her spine at the back with the blade pointing behind her, to her navel at the front. Hannah stared in horror as the blood immediately began pouring out of her and onto the grass. Several bits of internal organs were protruding from the wound and hanging out. The sight of this made Hannah feel sick to her stomach.

Narcissa coughed and spluttered, blood dribbling from the corner of her mouth, a dazed expression of disbelief on her face. She choked as she stumbled forwards, reaching out an arm imploringly to the horrified girl in front of her and inadvertently exposing her Dark Mark, and fell to the ground. Hannah took several steps backwards, not really knowing what was happening, before she turned and fled from the scene. She ran past other battles taking place but paid them no heed; she simply had to get out of there, get away from the gruesome sight, not really aware of anything.

She fell to her knees by the hedge, gasping and choking, tears streaming from her eyes as she fought to control the wave of nausea that was welling up inside her. She had never seen anyone die before, and certainly not in such a gruesome way.

Eventually the nausea subsided, but she couldn't hold back the tears. She cried for several minutes before becoming aware of the presence of something beside her. She looked up to see a fox nuzzling against her, its unusual steel-grey eyes regarding her questioningly.

Moments later it had disappeared, replaced by Draco, who put his arms around her and drew her close, stroking her hair soothingly as she wept. "You've done this to me often enough in the last five months; it's about time I returned the favour," he whispered teasingly.

A strange noise escaped Hannah – a cross between a laugh, a hiccup and a sob. "Your – your mother…" she choked out. "I – I deflected her sword…She was attacking me…She had a Dark Mark on her arm…I'd already cut her wand so it was useless…She tried to hit me with Cruciatus…Her sword just sort of…_spun_…It – it sliced right through – right through her middle…I – I don't think she's still alive…" She buried her head in Draco's chest again, her entire body shaking violently. "I – I'm so sorry, Draco. It – it wasn't my fault! _Please_ believe me!"

"Shhh. Don't be sorry. Of course I believe you. She wasn't exactly a wonderful mother, anyway. You wouldn't have got on with her at all. And she _was_ a Death Eater."

They remained just so for several minutes, until Hannah pulled away, wiping away the final tears. "Th-thanks, Draco."

He shrugged awkwardly. " 'S OK. Anyway, it's true. Come on; calm down and we'll get back into that battle and help win it. Her own sword killed her; you were defending yourself. Remember that."

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

"Lenoir."

"You know my work?" inquired the woman pleasantly, in a strong French accent.

"I know you're a Death Eater," returned Hermione coldly. Her right hand was wrapped firmly around Rowena Ravenclaw's sword, though it remained in its sheath at her waist. Nonetheless, Hermione felt a sudden surge in power emanating from it as the levels of adrenaline in her body climbed.

"We 'ave done our 'omework, zen," observed Lenoir dispassionately.

Hermione chose not to answer, but Lenoir raised her wand. "It shall be short and sweet, zen, _ma petite_." She paused and then her mouth opened again, but before she could utter a single syllable – Hermione was guessing _Avada Kedavra_, knowing that Lenoir was an (admittedly unproven) ruthless killer – the former Hogwarts Head Girl had pointed her own wand, currently in her left hand, at Lenoir's and shouted, "_Expelliarmus_!"

Lenoir's wand flew into Hermione's outstretched right hand and she swiftly snapped it in two, letting it fall to the grass at Lenoir's feet. "_Incendio_," Hermione ordered, pointing her wand at Lenoir's. The now useless wooden tool burst into large flames, which quickly lapped at Lenoir's Death Eater robes. Within seconds most of the garment was aflame and Lenoir was shrieking in agony. Hermione forced herself to walk away as though nothing was happening, though inside she was horrified. She had indirectly caused the death of this woman, evil though she might have been, and she had read enough psychology books to know that this would haunt her in the future.

As she walked to the edge of the battlefield, she saw Lupin, and made her way over to him.

"It was the best thing," he said. "She deserved no less than to die in an agonising way. It's only a small taste of all the pain she caused to others, and this way we won't be wasting time and money on a trial."

Hermione stared at him in amazement; this was _not_ the sort of thing one often heard from Remus Lupin.

He smiled sadly, bitterly, at her. "War does this to you, Hermione – and remember I've lived through two. I've seen, first hand, the sort of suffering that woman brought on people. My sister died at her hands."

"I'm sorry."

"Thanks. You should know also that Narcissa Malfoy is dead."

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

****

TBC

Translation:

__

Ma petite (French) – my little one


	27. Those We Most Desire to Defeat

Reaching Maturity

Disclaimer: you know what I'm going to say. NOT MINE.

****

A/N: yes, there's loads of swordfighting in this fic. Blame JKR; she's the one who introduced Gryffindor's sword into CoS, and I'm wondering if it's going to reappear, because it's been mentioned in subsequent books…Plus I've been reading and watching Lord of the Rings and Pirates of the Caribbean that many times, it's kind of rubbed off on me!

****

A/N 2: apologies for not posting last week, but I think most of you know why. And yes, I'm still quite disgruntled!

I am no longer an occupational therapy student. I failed my placement again (same level as before) so I'm not allowed to continue the course any further. In some ways it's a relief because I was seriously contemplating quitting, but the decision's been made for me now. So I'm going to go home for a year, do another A-Level, hopefully do my Stage 1 in sign language, get a part-time job (money is always useful!) and apply to do an English Lit degree in September 2006. Which is what I should have done in the first place, really. Academically I was flying; it was just the practical stuff (which is really the more important thing in the long run because it's what's involved in the job!)

****

Response to chapter 26

Yes, it was Blaise who was the Death Eater. If you look back in the story there are a number of things that, now you know it was him, will make you say "It's so obvious now!" (like I was with Quirrell in PS – which is what I was aiming for! The clues are there!) ¤cackles evilly¤

¤blushes from all the praise¤ Are you sure you guys aren't going just a _little_ OTT on the "best battle ever" and all that!

Glad you didn't see the thing with Narcissa coming! That was the plan! ¤more evil cackling¤ Basically Narcissa wasn't kidnapped or anything. It was all a scheme to get Draco to become a Death Eater by playing on his emotions. Narcissa disappears for a while, then he gets a note saying that if he becomes a Death Eater, Narcissa will be released. If he refuses to take the Dark Mark, he gets killed. Narcissa obviously wouldn't because she bears the Dark Mark herself.

Ron is no longer part of the story; the trio have drifted apart. Harry and Hermione are together and Ron and Parvati are together (I haven't explicitly said so but if you read between the lines of stuff said in earlier chapters, that's the case). He went home with everyone else after the exams.

You'll just have to assume that Harry/Hermione and Draco/Hannah have kissed – quite a bit. They've had plenty of opportunities; I just haven't really mentioned it.

Draco hasn't really got used to the fact that his mother is now dead. He's not putting on a f front for Hannah, but he doesn't know how to react yet.

I'm not making excuses, but I did say at the start of an earlier chapter that I'm not very good at writing battle scenes. However, I do really really appreciate the tips that I've been given; it'll help me to write better battles in future stuff!

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

Chapter 27: Those We Most Desire to Defeat

He'd know that unnatural silver hand and arm anywhere. "_You_!" hissed Harry in disgust.

"It is, indeed, I," the small, rat-like man in front of him replied mockingly, a smirk on his face.

"Do you really think you can beat me, Wormtail?"

Wormtail – Peter Pettigrew, to give him his proper name – shrugged cockily. "Perhaps." He twirled his wand idly in his fingers. "We shall see. A wizards' duel – without the seconds."

"Fine."

They faced each other and bowed. Harry had only very limited knowledge of duelling (courtesy of the infamous Lockhart in second year), so the first thing he cried, before Wormtail could move, was, "_Expelliarmus_!"

True to form, Wormtail's wand shot out of his hand, to be Summoned by Harry. The Boy Who Lived dropped the wand.

Slowly, deliberately, he placed one foot on the wand and transferred all eleven and a half stone of his weight onto it.

It cracked loudly and splintered into many pieces. "Oops," said Harry.

Wormtail looked from the wand to Harry and back again, watery eyes widening and face paling. Fear and panic were both perfectly apparent upon his now colourless face. A moment later he turned and fled. Harry watched as he unknowingly ran directly at a huge, shaggy black dog on the edge of the wood. _Sirius_.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

Draco had left Hannah by now and was slowly wandering the battlefield, occasionally dodging misfired curses and hexes, and unconscious and dead bodies – the former of which were being attended by medics, clearly distinguishable by their green robes and the St. Mungo's crest on them.

"So, you dared to show your pathetic little face, then," sneered a voice cold enough to freeze Hell itself from behind Draco.

Stiffening and raising his head high, Draco turned, his steel grey eyes meeting an identical pair – identical but far, far colder and crueller than his own. "Father," he stated unemotionally. "Do you want something?"

"_You_, Draco, are nothing short of a _disgrace_. You will be disowned the moment I get a chance to do so legally."

"Oh?" Draco raised one eyebrow, feigning curiosity. "What have I done that would merit such a drastic step as disownment – if such a term exists?"

Lucius Malfoy's nostrils flared in annoyance and irritation. "_Don't _play games with me, child. You know _exactly_ what it is that you have done."

Draco regarded him quizzically. "I do?"

Lucius sucked in his breath. "_My own son_ would rather fight alongside Mudbloods like that know-it-all Granger, halfbloods like _Potter_, and stupid Hufflepuffs like that wretched Abbott girl!"

"You leave Hannah out of it!" hissed Draco furiously, temper flaring. _No, no, **NO**!_ _Must keep temper. **Must** keep temper!_

"So it's _'Hannah'_, now, is it?" inquired Lucius icily.

Draco narrowed his eyes. "You're treading on _extremely_ thin ice, Father."

"Threatening me, child?" asked Lucius mildly.

"Oh no, not at all. Consider it more a…_warning_, shall we say?"

Lucius swiftly drew a sword from his belt and placed the tip of it on Draco's throat, pressing on the skin hard enough to indent it. "_This _is a warning, child."

"I'm not a child any more, Father. In case you'd forgotten, I've been eighteen since March." He knew how precarious his position was; if he were anything but completely calm and still, his father would slit his throat without a second thought.

"_Silence_!" hissed Lucius, eyes flaring with cold anger.

"Careful, Father. You don't want to get angry. You're a Malfoy; you're not meant to have emotions, remember?" Draco gazed levelly, confidently, into his father's eyes, being careful to keep all emotion out of his own. "It's what you always taught me, at least."

Lucius withdrew the sword – and swung it sideways at Draco's legs, hoping to catch him off-guard. Draco, however, was more than prepared, and he jumped over it, rather like a child would jump over a skipping-rope. He pulled Salazar Slytherin's sword from his own belt.

Lucius sneered. "Do you really think that _you_ can challenge _me_? Your grandfather – my father – began teaching me sword skills and how to fight before my tenth birthday. I, on the other hand, never taught you, so I really have _no_ idea where you acquired that sword. The sword I possess belonged to my father. It is, for your information, a family heirloom."

__

What isn't? Draco couldn't help thinking to himself. Aloud, he said, "Dumbledore gave me this. It once belonged to Salazar Slytherin himself."

Lucius did his best to keep his face an emotionless mask, but Draco saw a brief flicker of fear cross his face. He smiled to himself. This could work to his advantage, if he played his cards correctly.

Lucius prepared for another attack, but again Draco was ready and anticipating it. This time Lucius targeted his son's neck. Draco ducked and brought his sword up vertically, holding Lucius' sword horizontally against it. Draco straightened and smiled a saccharine smile. Lucius glowered and wrenched his sword free. He slashed down at Draco's right arm, but again Draco blocked it as power surged through him from the sword. Lucius' sword was forced up and away from harm. "Where did you learn this?" he demanded, raising his sword threateningly.

"Remus Lupin and Arabella Figg," replied Draco offhandedly.

"That halfbreed?"

Draco simply nodded in affirmation.

Lucius let out a howl of rage, rushing at Draco, sword outstretched. Draco deftly caught the sword on his own sword and flipped it sharply upwards. It was as though someone else had placed their hands over Draco's and was guiding his moves.

Lucius winced, placing his left hand protectively over his injured right wrist. "_That_," he hissed furiously, "was _incredibly_ foolish." He switched the sword to his weaker left hand. Theoretically, now that he had his sword in the same hand as his son did in his, the task should be easier because the swords were diametrically opposite each other. The problem for Lucius, though, was that he was now being forced to use his non-dominant hand, whereas Draco was using his stronger one for weapon control, being left-handed.

But that minor detail would not deter _him_, he silently vowed to himself. After all, experience counted for much, as did good training, and he knew that his son had had very little, if any, of the former, and as for the latter, _Remus Lupin_! The victory, Lucius felt sure, was his.

Draco was fully alert as his father swung at his midsection, once again successfully blocking the stroke. He knew he had to be even more vigilant now – he'd had to twist to block that last one, and now that his father was using his weaker hand, his movements would be less controlled. He was surprised that Lucius' father had never taught him to be equally strong on both sides; Lupin and Figg had done so with him, Harry, Hermione and Hannah. _Another advantage to me_, he thought. However, he was also aware that he could not afford to get over-confident; that would be his downfall.

Lucius brought his sword down, aiming for Draco's right shoulder. Draco twisted to his right, caught his father's sword and wrenched it from Lucius' hands. It was ripped from the elder Malfoy's hands and flew out into the battlefield. Where it landed, Draco could not tell.

Lucius was looking at Draco with more hatred than he had ever directed at anyone before, and his wand was in his hand. "_Crucio_."

Draco's subconscious recalled his earlier conversation with Hannah, and he deflected the Unforgivable safely away. It was a combination of Seeker reflexes and the almost otherworldly power that was guiding him. Was Salazar Slytherin somehow present, guiding him and aiding him?

Hatred coursed through Draco's veins – hatred like he had never felt before towards his father. There was murder in Lucius' eyes, and Draco knew that a shield was his only hope now. Muttering the spell under his breath, he created his shield and prayed to whoever might be listening that it would hold.

"_Avada Kedavra_!" cried Lucius. Draco squeezed his eyes shut the moment his father began uttering those fateful words, waiting for the curse to penetrate his shield like Figg had told them it would. "_You cannot protect yourself from Avada Kedavra."_

Nothing had happened to him.

Slowly, fearfully, Draco opened his eyes, confused and bewildered.

The sight that greeted his eyes caused him to gasp and stumble back several steps.

Lucius Malfoy lay sprawled on his back on the wet grass, eyes open wide, an expression of disbelief and horror on his face.

He was dead.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

He didn't know how long he stood there for. It was some time before he heard two people hurrying over. He couldn't move; he was frozen to the spot, eyes unable to leave the sight of his father's lifeless form on the ground in front of him.

"The Killing Curse; that much is apparent," declared a woman with a Scottish accent as she bent down beside the dead man and examined him more closely. "The question is, who?"

"I should imagine, Minerva, that the list of potential suspects would be long enough to go around the Equator. Twice," replied the man with her. "At least. Though I claim innocence. Examine the wand. You know the spells that can be used."

"But it appears to be his own wand."

"Just examine it."

They both stared in confusion as the ghostly form of Lucius Malfoy came out of the wand. "McGonagall ended the spell and looked up at her companion from where she was still crouched on the grass. "Suicide, Severus?"

Snape shook his head. "I disagree. Look at his face; hardly the sort of expression one wears when they are _planning_ their death, would you not agree? Perhaps someone managed to deflect it when he cast it." He glanced up and, for the first time, saw Draco standing there. "Draco? What are you doing there?" He cautiously approached the frozen boy. "Did you see anything? Anything at all?"

Slowly, dazedly, Draco nodded.

"Okay." Snape removed his cloak and placed it around Draco's shoulders, forming his own theories surrounding the circumstances of the death of Lucius Malfoy. "Come, now. Let's get you away from here." He gently led his former student away from the scene and into the woods where some of the others from their group stood – Hannah, Lupin and Sirius, the latter of whom stood with a caged rat under the Body Bind hex in his hand.

Hannah rushed forward, worry and fear on her face. "What happened?" she demanded fretfully. She'd noticed the stunned, haunted look in Draco's eyes, his ashen face, and the way he stood that implied that he was about to collapse. She put her arms around him, drawing him into a hug and finally provoking a response from him as he rested his head in her shoulder. "What happened, Draco?"

Snape leaned in close to her when it became apparent that Draco would not speak, and murmured in her ear, "Lucius Malfoy is dead. His own Killing Curse was the death of him."

Draco, having heard these words, pulled away. "It was meant for me. Professor Figg said shields don't protect against that curse, even the strongest ones." He frowned in confusion. "But – but mine did. He tried to kill me, but my shield must have deflected it back at him." His voice was hollow, emotionless, stunned. Hannah pulled him tightly to her again, and he gave in to his emotions, sobbing softly, holding onto her as though his life depended on it. And in a way, it did.

A few minutes later, Harry, Hermione and Dumbledore, all clearly weary, joined them. Hermione was listening as Harry was ruing Wormtail's escape. "…I _had_ him! And I let him get away – _again_."

"That's enough of that, Harry," cut in Sirius, a smirk on his face as he held up the cage. "I saw your fight with him – what little there was; he was too much of a coward to face you down properly. When he transformed he came straight to me. Couldn't have worked better if we'd planned it. Now all we have to do is present him to the Ministry, turn him back into his human form and I'm a free man!"

"I was under the impression that you were hell-bent on killing him?" inquired Lupin in confusion. "Seeing as you have been for the last sixteen and a half years?"

"Oh, I was. Then I realised that I may subsequently have difficulty in proving my innocence, because, technically, I _would_ have murdered him by that point. For some reason, Moony old friend, I decided that Pettigrew alive, complete with Dark Mark, was going to hold a lot stronger than Pettigrew dead, particularly at my hand. _And_," he continued, raising the cage so that it was level with his lips, his face and voice darkening considerably, "he'll suffer even more then. They'll put him under Veritaserum and then it'll all come out, about how he betrayed Lily and James, how he faked his own death and how he helped Voldemort come back to power." He shook the cage to prove his point. "The wizarding world will finally know exactly what happened."

Lupin opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by the appearance of Arabella Figg bursting through the trees. "Voldemort is here," she announced.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

Armed with a number of potions and a mass of advice, Harry stepped out onto the battlefield a few minutes later. His scar was on fire now, but Snape had given him a painkilling potion that had the added bonus of improving his already-excellent reflexes. "An extremely useful side-effect," the Potions Master had observed.

He went cold as he came face-to-face with the one he had to face to end the war for good.

"So, we meet yet again, Mr. Potter. What a _pleasure_."

Harry stared coolly into the slit-like red eyes. "Not quite so strong as you were earlier, are you, Tom?"

"I must apologise, for I know not of what you speak."

"Pettigrew's out of action; it won't be much longer before Sirius kills him, I should imagine. Once he's proved his innocence, of course."

"Pettigrew is expendable," said Voldemort disinterestedly. "Snivelling waste of space anyway. Unfortunately for you, though, I do have the Malfoys."

Harry feigned surprise. "You mean you haven't heard?"

"Heard what?" There was a flicker of uncertainty in Voldemort's eyes. It was only very brief, but Harry had seen it, and it gave him hope.

"Narcissa Malfoy was killed by her own sword. Lucius was killed by his own curse. And Draco's fighting with us. That's just a small handful that are out of action. I could list plenty more, if you like."

"_Liar_!" hissed Voldemort, eyes flaring.

Harry saw the worry and fear in his face, but forced his own face to remain impassive. Draco had taught him that.

He suddenly had to back off as Voldemort rushed at him. Gryffindor's sword was suddenly out of its scabbard, the rubies glittering with energy. Harry was nowhere near it as it flew at the Dark Lord. Slowly, a ghostly figure materialised, expertly controlling the sword. Harry stared, stunned, in disbelief. He was seeing things. His mind was playing tricks on him. What he was seeing was impossible; perhaps he needed new glasses? "_Godric Gryffindor_?" he breathed.

The form held Voldemort in position momentarily, and nodded and winked at Harry. "It is I. Use the potions, young Harry. They are your key to success."

"Potions? Which one?"

"You'll know." He continued his battle with Voldemort, who had somehow acquired a sword since Gryffindor's appearance.

Now he had a bit of time to think, Harry turned his attention to his pockets, baffled. Why couldn't Gryffindor be more specific? He was acting as though they had all the time in the world – and while _he_ might have, as well as not having to worry about being killed due to having been dead for centuries, Harry certainly didn't. Time was running out.

A bottle suddenly leapt into his hand as though enchanted – which was quite possible, in this world. Harry recalled Snape shoving it into his hand at the last moment. Cyanide, from the teacher's private stores. There wasn't time now to ponder what the teacher was doing with such a substance. Perhaps it was preparation for the battle, or something for his dual role as spy.

Taking a deep breath as he uncorked it, and suddenly feeling dazed and not quite with it, Harry opened his mouth and muttered words that seemed to come from nowhere. He had no idea what he was saying, but as he watched, the substance shot out of the bottle, swirled in the air and flew into Voldemort's open mouth. Immediately, he felt himself again, his senses sharp.

"Well done!" Gryffindor beamed at him. Voldemort was now wheezing, choking, gasping for air but unable to get any. He was suffocating because the cyanide prevented the final stage of respiration from taking place, because he couldn't get the oxygen he needed. He fell to his knees and the sword tumbled from his hands.

"Take the sword. Transfigure it into a wooden stake and drive it through his heart _before he dies_. Do it after and there's a chance he could come back," said Gryffindor. "I know he's no vampire, but the rules are the same for super-strong Dark Lords such as Tom Riddle."

Harry, not really knowing what else to do, obeyed. Gritting his teeth, he drove the stake through Tom Riddle's heart, gulping hard as he did so. Riddle let out a gasp as the stake plunged through him, writhed for a moment and then lay still.

Gryffindor handed his sword back to Harry. "Well done, young Potter. He is truly gone forever now, I can assure you of that."

"Th-thank you," stammered Harry, not really knowing what to say.

Gryffindor nodded and disappeared, breaking up into wisps and then fading completely.

Dumbledore was the first to arrive. "Harry?"

"He's gone. For good." And with that, Harry dropped to the ground, exhausted.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

They returned to Lupin's home. By this time, news of Voldemort's permanent defeat had spread nationwide and huge parties had spontaneously begun, despite the fact that it was two o'clock in the morning! Arabella Figg had joined the group returning from the battlefield, and they descended on Lupin's home for hot drinks.

Harry was leaning wearily against Sirius, who had put Pettigrew, still under Body Bind, in a locked cupboard. Hermione was sitting cross-legged on the floor by the fireplace, Crookshanks curled up on her lap. Hannah had her arms around Draco, supporting his weak frame, as they sat on the sofa. Draco wasn't quite asleep yet, though he wasn't far from it. He kept shaking himself awake whenever his eyelids fluttered closed. Snape was stood, looming as ever, in the doorway, arms folded across his chest. McGonagall and Arabella Figg were either side of the fireplace, resembling human bookends to Hermione's mind. Dumbledore was in a comfortable armchair and Lupin sat on the other armchair.

"I am proud of you all," stated Dumbledore quietly, looking at all of them in turn. "Particularly, though, I am proud of you four students. I could not imagine four eighteen-year-olds –"

"I'm not eighteen till the end of July," interrupted Harry.

Dumbledore acknowledged this with a wry smile. "My apologies, Mr. Potter. I mean, of course, that I could not imagine four _seventh-year students_ essentially winning the entire battle and displaying such an _astounding_ level of magic and skill that they ended up doing." All four went bright red from embarrassment, and Crookshanks purred and Hedwig hooted in approval.

Draco pushed himself into a sitting position and slightly away from Hannah. "What I don't understand," he began tentatively, "is how my shield…did what it did. Professor Figg, you said that shields can't deflect Avada Kedavra." He coughed weakly and leaned back into Hannah, who drew him in close.

"Hmmm…" Arabella drummed her fingers on the mantelpiece, deep in thought. Eventually she stopped and straightened up. "All I can think of is that you must have hated your father so much that that hatred – plus, I suspect, some of Salazar Slytherin's power – created a super-strong, completely impenetrable shield. When the person that you hated so much cursed you, the shield somehow sensed this and deflected the curse. If you don't mind me saying so, an instant, painless death was too good for Lucius Malfoy."

Draco shrugged. "I agree, but…He _was_ my father. Even if he was pure evil." He sank into Hannah's hold and she drew him close comfortingly. Moments later he was asleep.

Sirius glanced across at him. "Bed for everyone, I think," he declared. "It'll be chaos here tomorrow – sorry, today now – and I'd rather be well-rested." He nudged Harry. "Come on. Bed. Now." He hauled Harry to his feet and half-led, half-dragged him up to the attic bedroom. Snape followed, Draco in his arms. The Potions teacher gently put the sleeping boy to bed, fully dressed minus his shoes. "I'll leave a sleeping potion in every room," he told Sirius. "I have plenty prepared, just in case anyone needs any."

Sirius nodded. "Fine. But make sure you're quiet."

"Of course." Snape glared at him.

"_Alright_! That's enough!" Harry growled. "_Some_ of us in this room are trying to sleep."

Sirius glared at him. "Goodnight." He left, Snape behind him, and almost fell over Crookshanks, who was making his way up the stairs in front of Hermione. It was not long before the entire house was asleep.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

****

TBC


	28. Freedom and Solicitors

Reaching Maturity

**Disclaimer: **I have news for you – THEY'RE NOT MINE.

**A/N:** brief (VERY brief) reference to _Macbeth_ in here…

****

Author responses to chapter 27:

Oooooh, looks like I managed to surprise some of you with Lucius' death! ¤grins like the Cheshire cat¤ As for Pettigrew, a quick, painless death was far too good for him. Sirius really isn't one of my favourite characters at all, but I wanted him to get some satisfaction!

As for Draco, it remains to be seen as to how he reacts to the deaths of his parents. And I had to have Hannah comfort him!

The whole Sirius-being-dead thing: I did point out at the start of this fic that this was written about a year before OotP came out but I like it so much that I really wanted to post it anyway so it became AU, although I've made it as OotP-compatible as I could (with the obvious exception of Sirius still being alive – his role is too important and too Siriusy for anyone else to take over).

And, including this one, there are five more chapters to go. I can't believe I've got so few left! I've been posting since October 21st, so for over 7 months now! I'm on target to get the final chapter up before HBP comes out in LESS THAN TWO MONTHS!

**GOOD LUCK TO EVERYONE WHO HAS EXAMS.**

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

Chapter 28: Freedom and Solicitors

For the four students, the next few days passed in a blur. The day after the end of the war, Sirius, Lupin and Dumbledore went up to London with a caged Wormtail, while the others went to a huge street party in the mainly-wizarding village Lupin lived in. it was early evening when the three travellers returned, triumphant.

They suddenly Apparated right behind Harry. Sirius grabbed his godson and, despite Harry's weight, swung him round. "I'm _free_!" he yelled to all within hearing range – which was every inhabitant in the village. "We showed Pettigrew to the Ministry officials and they turned him into his human form. They're putting him through intense questioning under Veritaserum as we speak. But his mere existence was proof of my innocence, so I am a free man at last. There are going to be a series of articles in the _Daily Prophet_ about it."

Harry hugged him tightly. He couldn't believe that Sirius was finally going to be cleared, and he was completely overjoyed by the news. They had waited so long for this.

The party carried on well into the early hours of Sunday morning, and was thoroughly enjoyed by everyone present. People were able to talk freely for the first time in years, and shared their experiences of the war with each other. There was also much mourning, for those who had been lost during both wars were not to be forgotten.

Dumbledore finally dragged away the crowd staying at Lupin's at about three o'clock in the morning. The days after the party were spent reasonably quietly at Lupin's. They discussed the battle, read, played games and let Snape teach them further potions. He was amazingly pleasant to them – mainly because Hermione accidentally discovered a potion that, when applied, removed the hideous Dark Mark from Snape's arm. It actually provoked a smile from the dour teacher.

Hannah wasn't paying much attention to the lessons she attended – Draco had done very little besides sleep since their return from the battlefield, and he was plagued by horrific nightmares of the battle and his father's death. The dark circles under his eyes grew more and more pronounced in his colourless face and he barely ate.

After a week of this, it was decided that Draco and Hermione should swap rooms, as Draco responded to Hannah far more than he did to anyone else, and was comforted by her presence. They could be trusted to not get up to anything, as could Harry and Hermione. The room swap seemed to work, and by the time June rolled round, he had made a decided improvement.

On June second, Harry and Hermione slipped out of the house for a quiet walk. The sky was a gorgeous, cloudless blue and the sun warmed them pleasantly. After ambling along, hand in hand, for a while, Harry stopped. "You know, Hermione, I wouldn't have got through this without you."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous!" replied Hermione, a slight blush creeping across her face.

"I mean it," insisted Harry.

"Rubbish. It's all because of _you_, the Boy Who Lived. _You_ killed Voldemort!"

Harry shrugged. "I _did_ have some help from Godric Gryffindor." He brushed the fingers of his free hand against the now-familiar hilt of the sword at his waist. "I think we all helped each other through this. You, me, Draco _and _Hannah. But for me, _you_ were the driving force. _You_ were the one that was always there for me." He paused, then took her hand, his green eyes boring intensely into hers. He hoped she couldn't feel his hands shaking or sweating from nerves. He had to do this, and now. He'd been working himself up to this for a while, and this was The Moment. If he didn't do it now, he never would. "I don't want to be away from you again. Marry me, Hermione."

"_What_! Harry – we're so young…"

"We can take as long as you like," he said hurriedly. He gave her a beseeching look. "Please…Say yes."

Hermione leaned forward and gently brushed her lips against his. Now was not the time for the deeper, more passionate kind that they had frequently engaged in during the past year. "Is that enough of an answer?" she whispered.

Harry nodded and hugged her tightly. They stood there in that embrace for a long time, simply enjoying each other's presence.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

Hannah and Draco, meanwhile, were sitting out in the garden in the shade of the big oak tree. Draco was sketching and painting, his book since the battle a mixture of battle scenes and peaceful, beautiful landscapes straight from his imagination. The former were harsh, bold, dark; the latter were pale, seeming as though the colour had faded.

There was also, although she did not yet know it, one of Hannah, with every last detail painstakingly added in. Hannah was leaning back against the tree, watching Draco carefully. He was still extremely fragile, tiring easily, and it came as no surprise when, a few minutes later, he put his brush down and sank back against the tree, coughing hard and struggling for breath.

"Are you OK?" asked Hannah anxiously. "That doesn't sound too good."

Draco gave her a weak smile. "I'm fine. Just tired. It's pretty hot today. The heat's getting to me. I've never been very good in hot weather."

"Probably," she agreed, slipping her hand into his and squeezing it tightly.

He sat up, pulling his hand away, and drawing his knees up to his chest and hugging them protectively. Idly he gazed up into the sky, unable to look at Hannah. "Do you think I'm awful if I say I'm glad my father's dead?" he asked hesitantly, almost fearfully. "I mean, I know he was my father, but he…he was _evil_. He killed people – _innocent_ people – he boasted about the murders…he tried to kill me, his own son…Never mind what_ else_ he did to me." He shivered involuntarily, despite the heat and sunshine.

Hannah knelt behind him, arms circling his thin waist. "You're _not_ a bad person, Draco," she told him fiercely. "I don't blame you one bit. And you know something? If Lucius _had_ killed you out there, I wouldn't have rested until he knew what a big mistake he'd made and that he had _paid_ for it."

"What do you mean?" He wearily laid his head against her chest, closing his eyes.

"I mean, he'd never see the light of day again."

"You never used to be this vindictive."

She shrugged, a wry smile on her face. "Your influence, I suspect. After all, it's the sort of thing _you'd _do."

He paused, considering this statement, then laughed softly. "You're right. If Mother had killed you, I wouldn't have hesitated in going after her. Both my parents were evil; both were Death Eaters. They used to rule my life. My future was all mapped out – make me a Death Eater, train me in the 'family business' – which in all likelihood would have involved the trading of and dealing in Dark objects – and marry me off to Pansy Parkinson." He pulled an expression of sheer revulsion. "I couldn't imagine anything worse; it would be a fate worse than death."

"You're not going to, are you? Marry Pansy, I mean?" asked Hannah anxiously.

"What do you take me for?" cried Draco in mock outrage. "Anyway, haven't you read today's _Prophet_?"

"I would have done, but Dumbledore has one copy and I think he took it with him when he left this morning for London, and Snape's currently got the other one down in the lab. So no, I haven't. Why?"

"Pansy got caught, along with her older brother. Awaiting trial for Azkaban. There's also rumours that Fudge is on his way out of office." He reached up for her hand. "I was up early so I got a chance to read the paper before anyone else."

Hannah gave him a sharp look. "_How_ early?" she demanded.

Silence.

"Draco…_How early_?" she repeated.

He sighed heavily. "I got up at quarter past six."

"When did you _wake_ up?"

"About four-thirty," he muttered. He sighed. "I can't sleep, Han. It's too hard; when I _do_ sleep, all I see is the battle and death and horrible things and – and Father's death. So I try to not sleep."

She got up and crouched down in front of him, giving his thin shoulders a short, fierce shake. "Are you deliberately _trying_ to make yourself ill, Draco?" she demanded harshly, her normally peaceful blue eyes burning into his grey ones. "If you carry on like this, you'll kill yourself!"

"No I won't!" he shot back angrily, leaping to his feet. He seemed suddenly like the old Draco Malfoy, the cold, unpleasant Draco Malfoy that most of the school had feared. "And why can't you just _keep out of it_ for once!" He stormed into the house, banging the door behind him angrily, thundering up the stairs – earning himself an odd look from Sirius as he swept through the kitchen – and flinging himself onto his bed, where he lay staring up at the ceiling, furious.

"Oops," Hannah remarked to herself as she watched him go, her heart plummeting. She hung her head in defeat. She had blown it, completely and utterly.

A shadow fell across her. "Hannah?" asked Sirius, concerned. He crouched down beside her, one hand on her back. "What's wrong?"

She swiped at her eyes in an attempt to get rid of the tears in them. "I wrecked it. He'll never want to speak to me again."

"What happened?"

"He won't sleep. I challenged him, told him that he'll end up killing himself if he carries on like this, and he stormed out on me."

Sirius slipped an arm around her shoulders, giving her a comforting squeeze. "He'll come round. Trust me. You two are too close to let one spat end it all. James and Lily were like that a lot of the time. Give him time to cool off, though." He glanced at his watch, frowning. "Well, I don't know where Harry and Hermione have got to…Fancy a cup of tea?"

"Why not?" Hannah smiled tearfully at him. "Oh, Sirius – thanks."

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

Half of the village (or so Sirius insisted) was woken at six-thirty the following morning by Harry's yell. The only occupant of Lupin's house that did not wake was Draco, as Snape had slipped him a strong sleeping potion.

"What in blazes…?" demanded Lupin, tearing down the stairs, panicked.

Harry waved the _Daily Prophet_ wildly in the air. "Fudge – he's resigned! For good! And Pettigrew's confessed everything under Veritaserum and he's been given the Dementor's Kiss!"

"_PARTY_!" hollered Sirius, jumping down the stairs and leaping from the sixth step.

McGonagall emerged from the living room, a scowl on her face. "Is it _really_ necessary to wake the _entire _household _this_ early in the morning, Mr. Potter?" she inquired irritably.

"Yes," interjected Sirius immediately. This earned him a glare from McGonagall, who disappeared back into the living room after ordering everyone back to bed.

Snape, Lupin and the girls went – though there was some debate as to whether Snape had actually been asleep before they had all been woken up. Sirius shrugged and it was perfectly apparent that he had no desire to obey his old Head of House. "Anyone for breakfast?" he asked.

Arabella shook her head and announced that she was going out for a walk. Harry and Sirius were the only two remaining, and Harry took Sirius up on the offer of breakfast. Sirius began cooking while Harry sat at the table. "Have you contacted Hermione's parents yet, Harry?" he asked as he gave his godson a pancake.

"I ai-ng fr Eh-wg t'rtrn," replied Harry through a mouthful of pancake.

"In English, please."

Harry swallowed. "I said, I'm waiting for Hedwig to return." He was, although he would not admit it, desperately nervous about what Mr. and Mrs. Granger would have to say about their daughter marrying him.

"You've made a good choice, you two."

"Is that the fatherly stamp of approval?" asked Harry teasingly.

Sirius gave him a mock glare. "_God_fatherly, please, Harry. I'm not your father; it would have been up to James to give you the _fatherly _stamp of approval."

"Of course. I apologise."

"You do realise, of course, that I'm the one that gets to royally embarrass you at the wedding reception?"

"Do you _have_ to?" Harry was slightly alarmed – what embarrassing things did Sirius know about him? And what embarrassing things did he _not_ know that there was a risk of him discovering? He would have to do something about that – and soon. _Must contact all friends and Gryffindors to warn them about this – except Seamus; he'll delight in revealing all._

"Of course I have to." Sirius regarded him with a smirk. "Why? Worried what I'll find out?"

Harry pointedly did not respond and turned his attention to the paper. "Fudge was given a vote of no confidence yesterday afternoon. Then he declared that the media were portraying him in a bad light and that they didn't know what they were talking about, so he'd let some other poor beggar get all the bad press and all that." He flicked through a few pages and then looked up sharply. "Don't let Draco see this – Fudge is trying to claim that Lucius Malfoy was a good citizen and must have been under some kind of spell. He seems to think he's innocent."

Sirius almost choked on his coffee. "You _are _joking, I hope."

"Nope."

"If he's saying _that_ sort of thing, he should go to St. Mungo's without delay for reality orientation. I wonder who'll take over."

"What about Arthur Weasley?"

Sirius shook his head. "No. He's already said he'd never do it, even for all the money in the world. He's not interested in that sort of thing." His eyes twinkled in a way that made Harry suddenly nervous. "Reckon I should stand?"

"Oh, that'd go down _really_ well."

"I am a free man, don't forget. My name has been cleared and everyone in the entire wizarding world will know the truth by tomorrow. Why shouldn't I!"

Harry rolled his eyes and went back to reading the paper.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

Hannah did not wake again until nearly eleven. Her first thought, as always, was Draco, and she glanced across at him. Her heart twisted at the sight that met her eyes – even in enchanted sleep he looked horribly ill and fragile, and deeply troubled. He looked worse asleep than awake; at least when he was awake there were signs of life. Lying in the bed with his eyes shut, he looked almost dead. Just to make sure he wasn't, she went over and felt for his pulse to reassure herself. She relaxed when she found it, and placed a light kiss on his cheek before heading downstairs, knowing he would be out for another few hours yet. Arabella and McGonagall were about to depart for their homes.

Once they had left, the kitchen was quiet (for once). Lupin and Hermione had gone shopping for food, and Harry and Sirius were deeply involved in a game of Muggle Monopoly at the kitchen table. Sirius was winning by a long way, and Harry was currently In Jail. Hannah sat down to watch them after getting something to eat and was immediately appointed as banker. She rolled her eyes but took up her duties nonetheless.

A few minutes later an owl soared in and deposited an official-looking letter on the table. Picking it up, Hannah noticed that the seal was McBett and Seyton Solicitors, and her heart skipped a beat. McBett and Seyton, she remembered Draco telling her once, were the Malfoy family's solicitors, and had been for generations.

"Is everything OK?" asked Sirius in concern. Hannah silently handed him the envelope and he studied it intently. "I'd say it's to do with the reading of Lucius' will. They'll probably want Draco to go along when it's done."

"Do I have to go?"

They all jumped at the sound of Draco's quiet, tense voice from the doorway. Nobody had heard him come downstairs. He stood there, leaning wearily against the doorframe, his clothes hanging loosely from his painfully thin frame. The sleeping potion had not had any effect on the black circles under his eyes, contrasting sharply with his drawn, pallid face. Although he had only just got up, he was already exhausted. He wasn't sure how he had forced himself to get up and go downstairs, and he was beginning to wish he hadn't. He also suspected that someone had dosed him up with a potion, and Snape was the prime suspect.

"I'm afraid you do," replied Sirius, rocking back in his chair so that only the back two legs rested on the ground – _highly dangerous_, observed Harry slyly, _especially if someone were to give the chair a quick kick_ – and handed the letter to Draco. "I'm assuming that's what it is, anyway. It could be something completely different."

Draco opened the envelope and slowly read it. "You were right – it is about my father's will. They're expecting me at two."

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

TBC


	29. A Proposition and House Clearing

Reaching Maturity

Disclaimer: do not own. Never have done, never will do. All JK Rowling's.

****

A/N: I was an occupational therapy student, not a law student, and have no knowledge of the procedure for the readings of wills and so on. Therefore I apologise in advance for anything that is completely wrong. If anyone particularly wants to, they can enlighten me on the procedure in a review or an e-mail.

****

A/N 2: _Bridge Over Troubled Water _is one of my absolute favourites.

****

Author comments for chapter 28:

There will be no actual weddings in this fic. Maybe one day I'll get round to writing them as spin-offs – once I've done a load of other fics on my list, done a load of work to my original stuff, done a load of other things I have planned…

I've really tried to make Hannah into a genuine, believable character – who stays true to her Hufflepuff nature. That's important. She balances Draco in a lot of ways and she's good for him.

Sirius, I can quite categorically state, is _not_ going to become Minister for Magic. Sorry!

Yes, Harry and Hermione are very young chronologically to be getting married, but I know people who got married at their age. Also, they're a lot older than their age in some ways, and they're far more mature than most eighteen-year-olds. They're ready for marriage. Harry's parents were just out of school when they married.

I'm not commenting on what's wrong with Draco until the final chapter (provided I remember!) Some of you may want to guess; I welcome your musings on the matter!

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

Chapter 29: A Proposition and House-Clearing

Just before two o'clock, Draco, Hannah and Lupin Apparated to the offices of McBett and Seyton Solicitors in Leeg Alley, where all the different law firms operated – and competed with each other – near Diagon Alley. Lupin knew he was taking a big risk leaving Sirius Black and Severus Snape in the same house unsupervised by him, but he hoped (or, more accurately, prayed) that Harry and Hermione would be able to keep the peace.

Mr. Seyton was a smooth, slickly-dressed man in his late forties. He had gelled-back dark brown hair – _charmed to hide the grey that his eyebrows are_, thought Draco snidely – a pin-striped suit under his matching pin-striped robes, squeaky, highly-polished black shoes, a dark green tie flecked with silver downward-pointing triangles, and was tall with an extremely arrogant air. He looked patronisingly at Draco, who was several inches shorter than the solicitor, as he greeted them in the reception area. "You must be the orphaned child. I truly feel your loss; your father was a great man." He held out his hand to Draco to shake.

Draco refused, disliking this man instantly. "You feel more than I do, then," he returned coldly. He was determined to project an air of cool, emotionless indifference to this man.

Seyton blinked in surprise – perhaps he had been expecting a pathetic, distraught, sobbing boy rather than the mature, businesslike man he was facing – and swept an arm in the direction of his open office door. "Do come in," he invited.

Moments later Lupin had a mug of coffee in his hand. He did not drink it, though; it was far too weak for his liking, and there was far too much milk in it. Draco was leaning against Hannah, who had her arm protectively around his waist, her other hand slipped inside his.

"Now," began Seyton in a very self-important tone, clearing his throat as he unfurled a roll of parchment. "It is stated here, Mr. Malfoy, that Malfoy Manor, everything in it, and also its grounds, are to become yours provided you marry 'a suitable woman'. Now, you and I, Mr. Malfoy, both know that that person is Miss Pansy Parkinson."

"Is it stated as such?"

"Not as such, though your father and I had multiple discussions on this matter, and he informed me that this person is Miss Parkinson."

"Then I won't inherit it." Despite his frail appearance and slumped form, Draco spoke with a quiet, clear authority. "I refuse to marry Pansy, who I understand is currently in Azkaban awaiting trial for participating willingly in Death Eater activities. Also, if there is nowhere _in the legal document in front of you_ that states that my choice of bride must be Miss Parkinson, then what is there to discuss? It depends on one's interpretation of that statement, after all. If I don't get the estate, then so be it. I'll manage."

Seyton narrowed his eyes in a thinly veiled attempt to hide his shock at the young man's words. He quickly recovered, however (as many slimy solicitors and suchlike are apt to do), and returned his attention to the parchment that lay upon his impeccably tidy desk. "You are, however, to inherit the family fortune in the event of your mother's death, regardless as to your choice of bride – or _partner_, I believe the modern term is, particularly if you are…batting for the other team, if you will. I take it you do understand to what it is that I am referring?"

"I am far from stupid, Mr. Seyton. I know exactly what it is that you refer to, and I can inform you that I am not…batting for the other team, as you so tactfully put it." He kept a straight face as he said this, though for Hannah it required every ounce of self-control to not burst out laughing. "Is there anything else? I have a pressing schedule." _Of sleeping_, he mentally added. Seyton did not need to know that detail.

Seyton tapped the fingers of his right hand on the polished wooden desk. "It is up to you to decide what to do with the manor and the items inside it. Your mother's will simply states that upon her death, you inherit." He paused. "The Parkinsons will be disappointed, Mr. Malfoy." His voice was pleasant enough, but there was a distinctly threatening undertone to it.

"I have made my choice; she merely has to accept. Something," added Draco icily, levelling his stare with Seyton's, "that is none of your business. In my eyes she is 'a suitable woman' or whatever the phrasing was, and also in the eyes of my legal guardian and godfather, Professor Severus Snape. Is the matter of the reading of the will concluded?"

Seyton nodded curtly.

"In the future, the Malfoys will be associating with more…desirable solicitors. I shall notify you when our acquaintance is terminated." He rose, Hannah and Lupin a split second behind him. "Good day, Mr. Seyton." With Hannah's support, he swept out of the office, and the three Apparated back to Lupin's village, near the river. Lupin, glancing at them, told them that he would see them back at the house. "I need to make sure that Sirius and Severus haven't killed each other," he informed them with a wry smile.

Hannah turned away, staring blankly across the river. "I'd best let you get back to your 'choice', then," she said quietly before beginning to walk away. "Millicent Bulstrode? Morag Macdougal?"

Draco grabbed her violently, hauling her round to face him. "_What_! Han, don't be so _stupid_!"

"Why? What am I being stupid about?"

He raised his eyes to the blue heavens and sighed heavily, frustrated. "God give me strength," he muttered. He groaned. "I'm being really bad at all this."

"At all what?"

He looked down at the ground, suddenly fascinated by his feet, unable to look at her. "Well, I don't have any idea about how to propose to a girl, especially someone like you, Han, but I'll do it anyway. Will you – will you be my 'choice'?" Only now did he lift his eyes hopefully yet fearfully, dreading her reaction – dreading rejection.

Her sad, angry, hurt face softened into a warm smile. "Oh, I think I could."

"Well?"

"Of _course_ I'll be your 'choice'!" She drew him into a loving hug, resting her head on his thin shoulders. "What happens now with all the stuff you've inherited?"

They drew apart and began walking back to Lupin's, hand in hand.

Draco sighed. "I suppose I'd better go over there tomorrow. The sooner I start, the sooner it's all dealt with. It'll take at least several days to go through it all. I know there are a number of books in the library I wouldn't mind hanging on to, as well as a few other things, but I suspect there'll be a lot of things that can be removed and sold – or destroyed. I don't really care about what happens to a lot of the stuff, but chances are there'll be some Dark items. And then there's the fact that I have no desire at all to reacquaint myself with the painted ancestors."

Hannah pulled a face. "I know what you mean."

"I'll need your help, along with Harry and Hermione if they're willing, and hopefully Lupin and Sirius. And then there'll be the problem of changing solicitors. God only knows how I go about doing _that_." He ran his fingers agitatedly through his hair.

"Lupin'll know," Hannah assured him, removing his hand from his hair and tugging him through the gate, which they had reached by now. "We can ask him. He knows about these things."

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

Early the next morning, the four plus Sirius and Lupin left for Malfoy Manor. This was the first time Draco had been back there since Christmas. Izzy and Mazzy, the two house-elves, flung themselves on Draco the moment they saw him. "Nobody is come for a long, long time!" squeaked Mazzy. "Mazzy is hearing Master Lucius is dead!"

Draco nodded briefly. "He is. So is Mother."

"Izzy can speak about it now because Master Lucius is dead," whispered Izzy, though she kept her voice quiet, as though she feared the portraits overhearing. "Master Lucius and Mistress Narcissa were very bad wizards."

"They were," agreed Draco shortly. He was still somewhat torn – although his parents had been Death Eaters, they _had_ been the ones who had brought him up. "Look, you two, I'm selling the Manor. I don't want it. How would you two like to go to Hogwarts?"

"But why is Master Draco selling the Manor?" asked Izzy plaintively.

"There are too many bad memories here," replied Draco quietly. He found himself lost in recollections of various events in his past – events that he knew would haunt him for as long as he continued to live in that house.

The two house-elves exchanged sad looks. They knew only too well to what Draco referred, knew what Lucius was like. They understood.

"You'll love Hogwarts," Harry assured them. "I spent seven years of my life there – we all did – and they've been the best seven years of my life. Not that that's difficult, of course," he added wryly.

"We need a plan," announced Lupin from the back. "Some kind of logical order to tidying this place – because it's huge. We can't just plough in anywhere."

"Maybe we could start with the dining room," suggested Draco. "I suspect the conference room, or meeting room or whatever you want to call it, is still protected by security charms. It's this way."

They followed him as he took them the short distance to the dining room and sat down at the long table, Lupin taking out a notebook and quill. A short discussion led to them deciding to work from the cellars upwards, one room at a time. The house-elves brought them coffee and tea with cakes before joining in with the discussion. They knew the house better than even Draco, along with all the secret passages and concealed rooms that are so often associated with old, rambling houses.

The far cellar appeared to have collected even more dust since Draco had last been there, despite it being so far from sources of dust. He noticed that the crates and boxes stacked there had not, as far as he could determine, been disturbed. "Let's get all of these things up to the dining room and sort them out there; it's too dark and dusty in here," he decided, coughing as his moving feet kicked clouds of dust up into the air. "Cover your mouths." He pointed his wand at the nearest box. "_Wingardium leviosa_."

The others followed suit, forming a chain that moved the boxes from wand to wand, ending with the two house-elves, who used their own magic to place the boxes and crates in the dining room. Finally the far cellar was empty.

"Izzy and Mazzy will clean this room while Master Draco and his friends sort out the boxes," announced Mazzy authoritatively. "There is cake and hot drinks for yous in the dining room."

"Sounds like we've been dismissed," observed Lupin.

"A cup of coffee would go down nicely," admitted Hermione.

"Izzy's cake is the best," Draco informed them. A sad look clouded his grey eyes. "I am going to miss them, though."

Sirius sat down at the table when they reached the dining room and poured himself some coffee. "Looks like there's just junk in those boxes."

"Most likely," agreed Draco. He sat down on the edge of the table, a mug of tea in his hand, and looked into the box nearest to him. There were a lot of envelopes inside it and he pulled out one of the tattered top ones. Intrigued, he put down his mug and pulled a sheaf of parchment from the envelope. "Father's first school report."

"Oh?" Harry raised his eyebrows, curiosity piqued.

Draco flicked through them, skim-reading them. "Top in Potions, same for Transfiguration, Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts…He was top in _everything_. His Head of House's report says that he was a model student in almost every respect but that he needs to learn to control his temper." He snorted derisively. "Like _that_ ever happened. Lucius Malfoy, perfect student." He stuffed the pieces of parchment back into their envelope, which he tossed to the floor in disgust. "That's now the pile of things to be burned."

He delved further into the box, Hannah aiding him. The others also began working on the boxes. By lunchtime, all of the boxes from the far cellar had been emptied. Three separate piles had been formed (and all objects placed in boxes in each pile to make carrying them easier) – paper and things to be burned; things to throw away, such as old brooms; and things to keep. This last box so far contained only an old, stuffed toy cat that Draco had stubbornly refused to let anyone throw away. When Hermione rolled her eyes and attempted to put it in the pile of things to be thrown away when everything else was done, Draco Summoned the toy to himself. It flew through the air and he clutched it tightly in his arms. To the others, he suddenly seemed like a small child, lonely, insecure and vulnerable. "_Don't_ try that again, Granger!" he snapped, glaring fiercely at her.

"Sorry!" Hermione hastily apologised, somewhat taken aback by his fierceness.

Lupin cleared his throat loudly. "I believe it is lunchtime," he said. "And we should wash our hands and faces before we eat; we're all covered in dust."

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

Once they had eaten lunch, the other two cellars were cleared out. This did not take anywhere near as long as the first one had done, owing to the fact that they were both considerably smaller than the first one. Old clothes that had belonged to Lucius and Narcissa, along with several broken broomsticks, were all that was found in most of the few boxes from the middle cellar. In the final box from that cellar, Harry found Narcissa's old schoolbooks and reports, and Draco sharply ordered him to get rid of them. He did not want to even look at them.

The only things that were considered to be worth keeping were three Muggle novels, as Draco had not read them. He put them in the 'To Keep' box, stating that he would read them in the near future. They looked quite lonely on their own in the box – the toy cat was by now safely in one of the large pockets of Draco's robes, which lay discarded with those of everyone else, as they had a tendency to get in the way of their tasks.

"Only two boxes from the third cellar," announced Hermione. "Just a load of old _Daily Prophets_ in this one –"

"Chuck them once we've had a quick flick through them," advised Hannah.

"– and this one has three broken owl perches."

"_Definitely_ chuck those out!" laughed Harry, watching as Hermione threw the perches into the junk box.

Sirius glanced at his watch. "It's ten to six, you lot – time for food," he declared as Izzy and Mazzy returned from getting rid of the last boxload of rubbish. "Are we staying here tonight or going back to Remus'?"

"It'd be easier to stay," commented Harry.

"May as well," said Draco wearily. "I'd rather not do any more Apparating than I absolutely have to, and I can't cope with Floo; I'm completely knackered."

"Dinner is coming," announced Izzy. "Yous should all have showers; yous is all messy and covered in dirt."

"Yes, ma'am!" replied Lupin, saluting the house-elf.

"Dinner is being served at six-thirty," Mazzy informed them all. "Rooms is all made up for yous." She and Izzy hurried off and Draco showed the others to their rooms – all of which were en-suite, meaning that they could all have long, luxurious, hot showers without waiting for anyone else to finish, as so often happened in their own homes.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

They were up early again the next day. They started in the dining room, but all that needed to be done there was for someone to remove the toy from under the small corner table. Hannah did this, and the toy was thrown out. Lupin decided that they should sort through the furniture last of all.

They moved on to the parlour. This had several glass-fronted cabinets, all beautifully crafted – and horrifically expensive. These contained a carefully-arranged display of china tea-services, and one set of drawers held some large books. Harry pulled out one of the books and held it up. "Didn't realise you played the piano, Draco."

"I _don't_."

"Then why is _your_ name written on the front of it?"

"Because I was forced to have lessons for six years. Nobody seemed to realise that I'm completely tone-deaf," shot back Draco bitingly. "Get rid of all of them if you like; _I _certainly won't be using them again."

"If you don't mind, could – could I have it?" asked Hannah hesitantly. "Only, I can play at a reasonable standard, and it looks like it could be quite good music."

"Play for us now," suggested Hermione. Harry and Draco nodded their agreement. Hannah, somewhat pink in the face, nevertheless took one of the books and set it on the small piano in the parlour. For the next five minutes, the room was filled with a beautiful rendition of Simon and Garfunkel's _Bridge Over Troubled Water_.

"_Wow_," breathed Draco when she had finished. "That was _amazing_."

Hannah eyed him dubiously. "Can we get on with the sorting now?" she requested quickly, in an attempt to hide her discomfort at being put in the spotlight and being praised like that.

"Good idea," replied Lupin, smiling gently at her, knowing exactly how she was feeling. He turned to Draco. "Now, what about your parents' wedding photos on this wall?"

Draco glanced briefly at them and bit his lip. "I don't know if I can keep them; I hate them both so much, and to see them looking so happy…You don't need to be a genius to figure out that all the photos they're smiling in are from before I came along." He pulled out some photo albums that he knew were in another drawer and sat cross-legged on the polished wooden floor of the light, airy room, flicking through them. Hannah sat down next to him and looked at the photos. "Who are all these people?" she asked, pointing to a party photo.

Draco shrugged. "Fellow Death Eaters, I expect. If you're looking for embarrassing photos of me, you'll be disappointed. I hardly featured in their lives, and also I imagine they didn't want to take the risk of photos showing any injuries that might throw suspicion on my father."

Hannah stopped his hand, pointing to one photo of a four-year-old Draco engrossed in a book. Underneath it in Narcissa's aristocratic, flowing script, was: "Note to Lucius: ensure he is to start learning _proper_ magic soon". Without doubt, that meant the Dark Arts.

"You look really sweet," commented Hannah. This promptly resulted in the album being slammed shut. Hannah, startled, pulled back. "Draco?" she asked uncertainly.

"I'll look at these later," he responded shortly, pushing the albums violently away from him and drawing his knees up to his chest, hugging them protectively. He lowered his forehead to his knees so that his forehead was hidden. The familiar sense of loneliness and being wanted only for the role of Lucius' heir washed over him, triggered by the photos. Everyone else's photo albums, he knew, had huge numbers of photos of their children doing all sorts of things. _His _parents seemed happier without him, he thought bitterly.

"Stop it, Draco," Lupin ordered gently, bending down in front of him and placing a hand lightly on Draco's shoulder. "I know what you're thinking. So what if they didn't really care about you as a person? They're gone now. Gone forever. You have Hannah now; she won't ever stop caring about you. You hear me?" He smiled as Draco nodded.

"Perhaps we should leave the albums until later in your life," advised Hermione. "It's too hard for you at the moment."

Draco nodded in agreement and slowly stood up. "I think that's a good idea. Let's get on with the sorting out."

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

****

TBC


	30. Homes

Reaching Maturity

Disclaimer: belong to the wonderful JK Rowling. Don't own Baldrick from _Blackadder_, either. I think he belongs to Auntie (that's the BBC).

****

A/N: I know where the phrase "being sent down" comes from! The tour guide at Lancaster Castle told me when I went!

Can any of you lot out there tell me what the letters in VCR stand for? Please? I'll give the first person to respond chocolate (virtual only unless you happen to be someone I know in person)

****

Author responses to chapter 29:

Riob: what part of the dialogue in the solicitor's did you find confusing? Let me know and I'll try to clear up and confusion! I agree with you about wanting to read all the papers and everything; Hermione certainly is! But Draco just wants to be done with it all. As for the suggestion of a twist, I say nothing!

Regarding Draco's inheritance, as nobody specific is named in any legal document as to who is a "suitable" wife for Draco, he gets everything because Snape has been Draco's legal guardian in the absence of his parents and thus has the input into who a "suitable" woman would be – and of course he's going to deem Hannah thus, so Draco gets everything!

I'm not saying if they find anything earth-shattering in the house.

Details of Draco's condition will be found at the end of the epilogue, which goes up in (gasp) only a fortnight from now!

Yay! I'm getting lots of Draco-sympathy from my readers! Good good; keep it coming!

There is somewhere that tells us how old James and Lily were when they had Harry. Can't put my finger on it exactly (mainly because I'm moving back home in just over a fortnight and my HP books are all 300 miles away already at home).

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

Chapter 30: Homes

It took a week for the whole of the Manor to be cleared. A large collection of Dark objects had been unearthed in the meeting room, guest quarters and Lucius' study, and were handed over to the Ministry. There was a strong possibility, they were informed, that these objects could bring down a number of people who currently believed themselves free of suspicion. This could only be done once Sirius and Lupin had removed the security spells (this had taken the best part of a day). A lot of things had been sorted, packed up and sent for sale. Draco kept a lot of the books from his father's library and some of his mother's art materials. Most of the furniture was also to be sold.

"We should get our own place," Draco said to Hannah as they sat in the dining room for the last time. "It's not fair on Lupin for us all to live there indefinitely – and besides, we need somewhere for all of our stuff. We can't keep it in the storage place forever."

"We could start looking tomorrow, if you like," suggested Hannah, getting to her feet.

"That sounds like a good plan." He slowly stood and looked around the room for the final time. "I'm glad to be leaving here for good," he confessed.

"Apart from when prospective buyers want to look around," she pointed out.

"That's not my responsibility; that's up to the lawyers and the estate people." His tone was abrupt as he slipped his hand into her warm one. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

They walked out of the manor, hand in hand, and Draco locked the door behind them before they Apparated back to Lupin's. It was late by now – Draco's watch told him that it was nine-thirty. He was exhausted and muttered something about bed before he slipped out of the room.

"So, all is completed," observed Dumbledore from the kitchen table.

Hannah jumped. "P-Professor Dumbledore! W-what are you doing here?"

"To see how my young ex-students are getting on," replied the headmaster, smiling warmly at her. "And I would say that they are more than ready for the adult world now, with very little indeed to hinder them."

"I begin my Mediwitch training in September," Hannah told him. "I'll be training at St. Mungo's."

"Then I wish you all the luck in the world, Miss Abbott – or rather, I should say, the future Mrs. Malfoy? And I understand that Mr. Malfoy will be working on medicinal potion research there as well?"

Hannah shrugged, suddenly sober. "_If_ he's well enough. Right now I don't think he is. He's completely shattered; he'll be in bed for about a week now." She shook her head sadly and sank down into the chair across from Dumbledore. "He's still so…so…_fragile_. They probably won't _let_ him work. What if he _never_ gets better?" She looked up at him, despair, fear and worry clear in her blue eyes.

"I should imagine that you are more than capable of living with it. As long as he has you, he has the motivation to recover as much as he possibly can. Of that, I am certain." He glanced into his mug. "My coffee appears to have grown cold. Ah, well. Perhaps you would like some?"

Hannah shook her head. "No thank you, sir. I'm not in the mood for coffee." She pushed her thick blonde hair from her face and twisted a scrunchie around it to keep it like that. "I'm too worried about Draco." She sighed heavily, looking and feeling far older than her eighteen years.

Dumbledore nodded sympathetically. "I understand. He still has much to sort out in his mind, and I rather suspect that he has yet to come to terms with the deaths of his parents; such things take a long time. I am no medical expert, as Poppy will tell you, but I cannot see how a period of enforced rest can hurt him.

"Now, I gather Harry is to become a Puddlemere United Seeker? It certainly gives me even more reason to support them."

"It was a choice between them and the Chudley Cannons, but Oliver Wood's at Puddlemere United, which swung it for Harry," explained Hannah. "Most of the people where I live are Arrows fans, but I've never really been into Quidditch, so I'm going to support Puddlemere."

"They've always been my team, United," remarked Dumbledore, more to himself than to Hannah. He stood and set his mug down on the table, nodding at Hannah. "Good luck, Miss Abbott. I have a feeling that there are those at large still that would desire to see the dominance of a Dark Lord." And with that he left, leaving Hannah alone and suddenly anxious, deep in thought.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

Two weeks later, Felicity Lockwood was elected as the new Minister for Magic. Fudge's whereabouts were unknown while the elections took place, but people were not bothered by this. He no longer had any power, which was the important thing in the eyes of most of the British wizarding community. Right until his final day in office, he had determinedly and wholeheartedly insisted that Voldemort had _not_ risen again, even after the deaths of several of his family at the hands of Death Eaters. The news of Lockwood's appointment sent fresh waves of new hope through a decimated society – she was well-liked by all that knew her, a former Ravenclaw and Head Girl during her seven years at Hogwarts. She had taught Arithmancy for two years before deciding that teaching was not for her.

"Seen the paper this morning?" inquired Sirius, lobbing that morning's _Daily Prophet_ at a bleary-eyed Harry. He ducked just in time and Hermione, standing close behind him, caught it in her non-dominant left hand. She smirked at Sirius. "I believe I have now," she responded teasingly, unrolling the paper. "Oh good! I'm glad Lockwood got in." She scanned the article. "Huge majority, apparently."

"Have you two found a house yet?" asked Lupin from the open back door. "I'm not _trying_ to get rid of you; I was simply wondering."

Hermione shook her head. "Not yet. It's been low on our priority list at the moment, to be honest. Harry wouldn't mind moving to somewhere like Godric's Hollow, and I'm inclined to agree; it's a nice area. The thing is, I'm going back to Mum and Dad's next week, so it's going to be a bit more difficult."

Lupin and Sirius caught each other's gaze and Lupin lowered the mug of coffee he was holding. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Padfoot?"

"Quite possibly, Moony old friend."

"Huh?" Harry, still more asleep than awake, blinked dumbly up at them from where he was now sitting at the kitchen table. "Am I not getting something I'm meant to be getting?"

"Would you possibly be thinking of the site of Lily and James' house, Padfoot?"

"I could well be, Moony."

"_What_?" demanded Harry, still not quite with it, his sleep-addled brain not really registering all of the conversation taking place around him.

Hermione, having had enough of this, shot a stream of ice-cold water from her wand into Harry's face. _That_ woke him up. "Fine. Fine! You've made your point! I'm awake!" He dried his face on the towel Sirius handed to him. "Now, tell me again what you two are wittering on about."

Lupin set his mug down on the draining board with the rest of the dirty utensils and sat down opposite Harry. "You want to live in Godric's Hollow," he stated. Harry nodded and the werewolf continued. "It could be arranged for a house to be built there, on the site of your parents' house – which, as you know, is still technically Potter property. If you want to, that is."

Harry was silent, idly drawing invisible circles on the table with his right index finger, mulling over what Lupin had told him. It wasn't anything he had really considered before; in fact, if he was honest with himself, he had expected the site of the old house to be some sort of memorial to his parents and himself.

Eventually, having made up his mind, he spoke. "I – I think I'd like that," he said quietly, smiling at his former teacher. It was an odd smile, in Hermione's eyes – a mixture of gratefulness and sadness. The mixture, however, was perfectly understandable in Hermione's eyes.

Lupin returned the smile. "Naturally we'll discuss everything with you first – you _are _the one who'll be living there, after all."

Harry shrugged. "It's about time Potters lived on that site again." He twisted round in his chair to look up at Hermione. "As long as it's OK with you, 'Mione."

Hermione beamed. She'd been hoping he would approve. "I think it's wonderful."

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

That evening, when he and Hannah had finalised the legal details for their home next door to Harry and Hermione (both with big gardens, of course) and returned to Lupin's, Draco received a letter. It had been typed on a Muggle computer, no doubt to disguise the author's own handwriting.

__

Draco Malfoy –

You may think that the Dark Lord has gone forever, and with him the Dark Side, those who will always be loyal to the cause of the Dark Lord. Although the former is true, the latter is not. There is an even higher price on your head since your father died at your hand. Defecting to the same side as those such as Harry Potter is not looked upon favourably by those who value the importance of blood, as you once did. The price you have paid is too high for your own good.

Watch your back. The Dark Side will never surrender and will never die.

Draco read the letter several times, comprehending its meaning all too well, memories of his father's death suddenly, vividly, violently coming back to him. The letter fell from his hand as the memories overwhelmed him. He had only been protecting himself; his father was the one who had used an illegal curse. He _shouldn't_ feel guilty. He _shouldn't_. He squeezed his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to drive the horrors from his mind.

"Draco? Is something wrong?" asked Hannah in concern as she sat down beside him on his bed.

Wordlessly, he pointed to the letter and let her pick it up. "I – I can't identify the sender, but – but I just have this feeling that – that it's true. Coupled with what Dumbledore said to you…" The expression on his pale face darkened. "I can't help but think we're going to descend into the way things were when – when Voldemort was in power. I don't think it'll happen immediately, but it seems rather…ominous, somehow."

"And just when we thought we'd won, too," replied Hannah grimly. "Although if you want my opinion, I think it's just someone trying to scare you. Personally, I want to know who sent it. Notice the lengths they've gone to to disguise their identity by typing it rather than writing it." She genuinely believed this to be the case; she was not simply saying it in an attempt to reassure Draco.

Draco agitatedly ran his still-skeletal fingers through his hair. "Maybe someone from school? Pansy's awaiting trial but she'll get sent down; Millicent's already in Azkaban…there's no way it could be Crabbe or Goyle; they're too stupid…" He shook his head. "No; it's no good. There are too many people it could be. This is the problem – it could be just about anyone from Slytherin, or someone from another House, or someone else entirely that hates my guts! This is what happens when you 'defect' to the opposition."

"But you didn't 'defect'; you made a sensible decision!"

Draco shrugged wearily. "Do you honestly think it matters to these people? They're quite happy to completely ignore the fact that I was never a Death Eater – although in the case of some, it's quite possible that they never knew whether I was or not. But they just assumed that because of my family background and my parents' roles in the whole business, and the fact that the Sorting Hat put me in Slytherin when it barely touched my head, that I would automatically join Voldemort. In some ways that was good, because it meant that they weren't keeping things from my hearing." He smiled wryly. "I got more than the occasional snippet of information to Dumbledore via Snape. None of them were suspicious when I kept slipping off to see Snape about something – they knew I studied a lot, particularly when it came to Potions. And not just because I always wanted to outdo Hermione – although I confess that that was the original reason."

"So you were a spy?" Hannah pressed. She was amazed (although not altogether surprised) at the risks he had taken. She knew as well as anyone the risks a perceived "deviant" took in Slytherin.

Draco was silent for a moment. "I suppose I was. I've never really thought of it like that before…but yes, I was. I was a spy." He shrugged, standing and wandering over to the window, hands stuffed into his pockets, gazing unseeingly out over the garden and beyond, lost in his thoughts. Hannah got up and stood next to him, slipping her arm around his waist. She knew the letter had unnerved him, certainly more than he was prepared to admit. She was too. _But then, evil never really goes away_ _completely and for good_, she thought. _In some ways, the good needs the evil. Light to counter dark. You need one to balance the other; without the dark, people can't tell what's really 'light'_. She laughed quietly.

"What's funny?" asked Draco, leaning his head against her shoulder.

She shook her head. "Nothing. I think I'm getting too philosophical."

"Please do it on someone else."

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

Towards the end of July, Malfoy Manor was sold to a couple who intended to turn it into a hotel. Draco was greatly relieved to have finally cut all ties with the past. He had warned the couple that there were several ghosts hanging around. They had reacted completely differently to the way he had anticipated – they were extremely excited about the prospect of being able to advertise the fact that the place was haunted. It transpired that they were members of a local supernatural society that specialised in recording apparently supernatural phenomena. "That was an excellent result," Draco declared when the final letter of sale came though. "I got rid of the place and they get something that's perfect in their eyes."

Harry got to his feet. "I just remembered – I need to owl Fred and George about something." He left the room.

Hermione leaned forwards and cast a Silencing charm on the room. "How's the surprise birthday party coming along?" she asked, lowering her voice. Just in case. When planning such events, one could never be too careful.

"Just waiting to hear from Cecilia Rickman," replied Hannah. "Now, Harry _definitely_ doesn't know _anything_?"

"Definitely," Sirius assured her. "He never has any inclination to read my post and we've spread the invitations out between all of us – including McGonagall – and over the space of several days to make sure he doesn't get suspicious at the number of letters arriving for any one of us. That was a good idea, Hannah. I take it Izzy and Mazzy are in charge of catering?"

"And Winky and Dobby and about half a dozen of the other Hogwarts house-elves," Hermione informed him. "The only problem with the whole plan is getting Harry out of the house for the entire day without him realising what's going on, but so far I've drawn a complete blank. Does anyone else have any ideas?"

"Draco, you should be in your element here!" Sirius teased.

Draco grinned. "Oh, I am. In the words of Baldrick from _Blackadder, _'I have a cunning plan'."

"Somehow, I think your 'cunning plan' is more likely to work than Baldrick's generally do," commented Hermione, grinning. Lupin, although the child of two magic folk, was reasonably knowledgeable about the Muggle world and had quite a few Muggle items in his house. These included a television and VCR. Hermione, upon discovering this, had owled her parents and got them to send their set of all the _Blackadder_ programmes on video. Her reasoning was that laughter was good for you and it would help people recover from the horrors that they had seen and experienced during the war.

"Take him to Diagon Alley and dump him in Quality Quidditch Supplies; he'll spend the entire day in there given half a chance. Have lunch – if you can drag him out of QQS – and maybe wander Muggle London for a while in the afternoon. Whatever you do, _don't_ bring him back _before six o'clock_," ordered Draco. "Otherwise we won't be ready and/or people that are coming won't be here, and that'll just ruin everything. Don't let him pay for lunch or anything – unless it's really expensive and/or from QQS. And hasn't he got to get his Puddlemere robes at some point?"

"Not till mid-August when he reports for pre-season training – that's when he gets fitted," Hermione informed him. "But I'm pretty confident in being able to lose him in the Quidditch shop for a few hours!"

Hannah, glancing out of the window, caught sight of Hedwig flying off. "Change the topic!" she hissed urgently. "Harry'll be down at any moment!"

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

****

TBC


	31. Harry's 18th

Reaching Maturity

Disclaimer: not mine.

****

A/N: just for the record, I have nothing against 70s music. It's not my opinions being thrown in here!

We've come now to the final proper chapter. The epilogue will go up next week.

****

Author comments for chapter 30

I have no idea why people interchange 'Professor' and 'Headmaster' with Dumbledore. Maybe it depends on who's talking?

I'm not telling you (of course!) who it is that's threatening Draco – although I can quite comfortably say that it isn't Fudge! As and when I sort out the sequel (still a lot to be written for that yet, so it'll be quite some time) it'll be relevant.

The sequel WILL get done. It just may take a very long time to come to fruition. It depends on everything else that's going on in my life. Time is highly significant!

As explained before, Ron and the other two have drifted apart in a big way, because he tends to see things very much in black and white, whereas Harry and Hermione are far more aware of the greyness.

"Wittering on" is indeed a British expression!

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

Chapter 31: Harry's 18th

"_Why_ are you dragging me out of the house so early, Hermione?" moaned Harry on the morning of July 31st. He was not quite awake yet, and was most put out at being hauled out of bed and ordered to make himself presentable _immediately_.

"Harry, nine-thirty is hardly _early_!" retorted Hermione huffily before they Apparated to Diagon Alley. She had half-feared that Harry would refuse to leave the house; _that_ would have thrown all the plans _completely_ out of kilter, and Draco would _not_ have been happy.

Harry shrugged grumpily. "Shouldn't a person be allowed to sleep in on his eighteenth birthday if he wants to?"

"No."

"Oh."

Hermione rolled her eyes and restrained herself from shaking him in sheer irritation. "Listen," she ordered sternly. "I'm taking you out for your birthday and you don't have to spend a single Knut! You should be _pleased_!"

"But I'm _tired_!" he whinged pathetically.

"You shouldn't have stayed up till two-thirty this morning playing Monopoly with Sirius, Lupin, Snape and Hannah, then," Hermione shot back tartly.

"Hmph." He couldn't think of a decent comeback. Hermione _always_ got the last word on things.

Hermione sighed wearily. _This is going to be a **looooong **day_, she groaned inwardly.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

It ended up being far from the tedium Hermione had anticipated. After spending the morning in Quality Quidditch Supplies (or QQS as Draco called it) and eating a delicious roast lunch in The Leaky Cauldron, Harry was full of life again, and the couple spent the afternoon being tourists in Muggle London and getting hopelessly confused on the Tube due to work being done on several lines. They gave up in the end and slipped down a side alley, Apparating back to Diagon Alley for ice-cream at Florian Fortescue's. Hermione took pride in the fact that she had not so much as set eyes on a single bookshop (although Waterstone's _had_ been desperately tempting). At five past six, they returned to Lupin's.

Harry regarded the house from the front garden. "Why are the curtains in the living room drawn?" he inquired suspiciously. "It's still light. And where is everyone? There doesn't seem to be anyone around."

Hermione smoothed down her robes and walked up to the front door, saying nothing. She rapped sharply five times on the door. It immediately swung open to reveal an apparently empty house. She turned to Harry. "Well? Are you just going to stand there all night?"

Bemusedly, Harry joined her and followed her into the living room. By now he was completely bewildered. What was going on? It was completely black.

"The curtains flew open and the entire room bellowed, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HARRY!"

"What the –?"

"Happy birthday, Harry," Hermione whispered softly in his ear, lightly kissing his cheek.

He looked around at all the people gathered there, amazed at the sheer number of people. Sirius, Lupin and Tonks were, naturally, there – Tonks with scarlet curls to her waist and gold ribbons in her hair. McGonagall, Figg and several other Hogwarts teachers – even, surprisingly, Snape – were there. Every single Weasley, including Percy, was present. Then there was Seamus, Dean, Neville, Lee and Becky Jordan, Dai, Theresa, a large group of others from Hogwarts, Oliver Wood, Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell, Hannah and Hermione's parents – and, of course, Dumbledore, Hannah and Draco.

A loud 'pop' sounded and Cecilia Rickman, somewhat dishevelled, suddenly appeared. "Sorry I'm late!" she apologised. "Oh God, did I miss it all? Had hassle on the trains – something about the wrong kind of sheep on the line or something equally ridiculous. It's not like you can Apparate inconspicuously form a Muggle train!" She pushed her thick dark hair from her face and grinned at Harry. "Happy birthday, Harry!"

"_How _you manage to get to King's Cross on time every year, Miss Rickman, is beyond my comprehension," remarked Snape. "It would transpire to be the only thing you _are _on time to."

"Shall we get this party started?" cut in Sirius, flicking his wand at Lupin's Muggle stereo, from which a Seventies hits CD began blasting out. The younger ones looked at each other in utter horror before fleeing to the garden.

"I know he's your godfather and everything, Harry," began Fred Weasley, grimacing, "but you _have_ to do something about his taste in music! It's _terrible_!"

Harry nodded, pulling a face. "Believe me, I've spent the past four years trying. It doesn't work. Trust me on that one."

"There's better stuff than _this_ around," Draco said, gesturing in the direction of the house and pulling a dismayed expression. "Paul Simon or something would be cool, but definitely not _this_. What is it, anyway?"

"Rod Stewart," Hermione informed them. "My mum used to fancy him when she was a teenager. Quite how, I don't know. I mean, have you seen what he looks like? The _complete_ opposite to what my dad looked like back then – and now, for that matter."

"I haven't seen what he looks like. Why?"

Hermione shuddered. "His hair looks like he stuck his finger in a plug socket and he got electrocuted, for starters! Ask my mum to show you a picture; I'm sure she's got all his records and a load of fan club things somewhere in the attic."

"Hey, who reckons Malfoy can swap CDs without the adults noticing?" inquired Seamus, eyes glittering dangerously. There was a can of beer in his hand.

"_I _don't! I haven't got the faintest idea how that stereo thing works!" retorted Draco. "_You're_ half-Muggle, Finnigan; _you_ do it!"

"You're on! What shall I replace it with?"

"_Anything_! I really don't care, as long as it isn't _this_!"

"Sorted." The Irish boy disappeared, can of beer shoved into Dean's hand. The rest of the crowd stood in near silence, waiting to see if Seamus would succeed.

Several minutes later, Seamus emerged to the sounds of Sixties hits (CD courtesy of Hannah), waving the offensive CD high in the air in triumph. "Got it!"

"I know." Sirius stood in the doorway, attempting to look annoyed but ruining it spectacularly by the huge grin on his face. "Did you kids really think we wouldn't notice the difference between _Maggie May _and _Needles and Pins_? We're not drunk _yet_!" He shook his head and disappeared back inside.

"I wouldn't mind seeing McGonagall drunk," remarked Lee Jordan, grinning wickedly. "Or Lupin. I reckon that would be funny."

"Lupin just goes to sleep," Harry informed him. "I've seen Sirius dosing him up to the eyeballs with Firewhisky and he just drops off. I wonder what Snape's like."

"I don't think that would be a risk worth taking," Cecilia informed him knowledgeably. "Last year, when I was a fifth-year, we were celebrating the end of our OWLs and got…somewhat out of our heads, shall I say. Snape caught us – probably because Carrie Flitcroft ran screaming (naked, I might add) down the corridor and then threw up rather spectacularly right by his door – and he told us in _no_ uncertain terms that we were all in detention for a week. He told us that he had absolutely _no_ sympathy _whatsoever_ for us, should we wake up in the morning with a hangover. I didn't get that drunk so I was OK, but he ordered Pomfrey to refuse to give any of the rest of my year any kind of remedy because it served them right."

"I imagine Pomfrey wouldn't have needed much persuasion about _that_," remarked Draco. Everyone laughed at that.

"Maybe we should slip Snape a Canary Cream?" inquired George Weasley mischievously.

"Later," advised Hannah. "Lull them into a false sense of security. Anyway, we can't _all_ go in to watch; it'd look horribly suspicious, particularly to Snape – you know what he's like."

"Point taken. Pranks are sorted!" declared George cheerfully. "Who else shall we get?"

"McGonagall, Lupin and Sirius," said Draco immediately. "Sirius deserves no less for his absolutely appalling taste in music, Lupin would just be funny because nothing ever seems to faze him and McGonagall because she's so uptight all the time."

"Deal!" George turned to his twin and they moved slightly away from the rest of the gang gathered on the lawn, heads together and lost in their plotting. The others just sat around talking about events since they had left school, until Mrs. Weasley called them in for food and present-opening. The twins exchanged looks with Draco, and Hermione distinctly saw Fred slip something into his pocket that George had given him.

It was not until the end of the buffet meal that the Canary Creams were dispersed. The twins silently and discreetly switched the ordinary custard creams that were on the saucers of the adults' teacups of the selected few (Snape, Lupin, Sirius, McGonagall, Percy Weasley, Mrs. Weasley and Dumbledore).

It did not take long for the Canary Creams to have an effect. When they did, Percy let out a long-suffering sigh, McGonagall rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless and Lupin merely raised one eyebrow at the twins. Sirius smirked ("Nice trick, you two"), Snape tutted when he had shed his feathers and treated the rest of the food with the utmost suspicion, refusing to touch anything else, and Dumbledore applauded them.

"_WHAT DID I SAY TO YOU TWO_!" demanded Mrs. Weasley furiously, her face growing as red as her hair.

"But remember, Mum – they love us down Diagon Alley," George reminded her. "Raking in the cash, aren't we, Fred?"

"By the bucketload," agreed Fred, nodding vigorously.

"So be thankful, Mum."

"_Hmmmmph_."

The stereo began blasting out someone's _Weird Sisters_ CD, rescuing the twins and resuming the party.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

"Good party, wasn't it?" commented Lupin at eleven-thirty the next morning, mug of coffee in his hand.

A muffled groan came from Sirius, whose head was buried in his arms, which were resting on the kitchen table. The blind was still drawn to keep the bright sunlight out.

"Serves you right for getting so drunk."

"Sod off."

"Oh, we're vocalising now? That _is_ an improvement."

"Sod _off_, Remus."

"Why? It's my house."

"I was here _first_, Moony."

"Go back to bed."

"I will." Sirius forced himself into a fairly upright position and stumbled out of the room, nearly barging into Snape in the process, who was just entering the kitchen.

"Don't mind him. Hangover," Lupin cheerfully explained. "Serves him right."

"And I suppose you want me to make a potion to cure it?"

"Absolutely not. It serves him right. He shouldn't have drunk so much," replied Lupin without the smallest drop of sympathy. "Let him suffer. Perhaps he'll learn something from this experience – although given past experience, I confess that I doubt that very much. I'm being too hopeful."

"How is everyone else?" inquired Snape, sitting down and picking up the _Daily Prophet_.

"Harry and Hermione are fast asleep in Harry's bed – fully clothed, I hasten to add. Hannah had breakfast a while ago; she volunteered to go out for some milk and bread, both of which I'm rather low on."

"And Draco?"

Lupin sighed heavily, shoulders slumping. "Extremely severe headache, even though he hardly touched any alcohol. It's probably from the music and the dancing last night. He woke up about an hour ago, stumbled down here looking absolutely dreadful, muttered something about having a sore throat, and I think the sight of food sent him straight back to bed. He'll be shattered for the next few days, I imagine."

"We should keep a close eye on him, then."

"I'm sure Hannah will be only too happy to oblige. She seems fully aware of what she's getting herself into, now they're engaged." He began washing up his now-empty coffee mug.

"She's good for him. I like her."

Lupin stopped washing his mug and stared at Snape in disbelief. "This from Severus Snape? About a _Hufflepuff_? Wonders will never cease."

"Watch it, Lupin," growled Snape.

"Oh, go back to your paper."

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

****

TBC

Only the epilogue left now!


	32. Epilogue

Reaching Maturity

**Disclaimer:** You know they never were mine and that they never will be mine

**A/N:** well, here we are! We have finally reached the end of this (rather long) fic! The epilogue itself is about 1,300 words long, so I'm pretty certain it's the shortest chapter in this fic! At the bottom you'll find out what's wrong with Draco.

**Author responses to chapter 31:**

Whinging and whining are essentially the same thing. I went to a dictionary and found the following. Whine: an instance of feeble or undignified complaining; a complaining long-drawn wail as of a dog. Whinge: whine; grumble peevishly; a peevish grumble.

Lucidity: funny you should say that about the twins…You haven't really got access to the sequel, have you? It's just that in the sequel, I have one of them (I think it's George) as an officially-recognised Potions Master!

Sirius does still need to grow up. But his excuse will be that he spent his twenties (the time of a man's life in which it's socially acceptable for him to get drunk) in Azkaban, so he's making up for lost time now. Somehow, though, I don't think that will go down too well with Remus! I really enjoyed writing the closing scene of 31, just for the humorous, post-party hangover content! If you read my fic _Inebriation in Mirkwood_, you'll find that Glorfindel's levels of sympathy towards Elrond are rather similar to Remus' towards Sirius in this fic! The way I see it, if you go out and get smashed, a hangover serves you right!

I have no issues with 70s music (although I prefer the Sixties, which is the music I was brought up on, courtesy of my mum, and yes, the Beatles ROCK – although I'm more a Simon & Garfunkel person), but the characters do. I can see Sirius in very loud flares!

I tend to do a bit of what JK does with the whole names thing. With me, if there's someone I don't like, a variation on their name could appear in one of my stories. Carrie is a play on Garry Flitcroft, who used to play for Blackburn Rovers, the archrivals and bitter enemies of the club I support (Burnley) – the two towns are but 8 miles apart – so variations on Blackburn players' names have a tendency to work their way into my stories! I'm sure there's probably Blackburn fans out there who do something similar with Burnley players' names, as well as fans of other clubs with their bitter rivals! And while on the subject of names, you can't _not_ have a Slytherin whose surname is Rickman! Couldn't resist!

TinorialPeredhil: perhaps I should take away your sugar supply…?

Seamus is 18, so he is legally allowed to drink alcohol. I now have the vaguest notions of an idea of perhaps writing a fic involving a drunk Minerva…

Padfoot in Purple: do you have any idea how red you've made my face go! I'm working (a bit) on my debut novel, so whether or not anything comes to fruition remains to be seen.

**Finally**, thank you all SO SO SO SO SO much, kind readers and reviewers! It's been a marathon (over 8 months)! And only 3 weeks till HBP comes out!

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

Chapter 32: Epilogue

Three days later, the four were gathered by the river, enjoying a picnic lunch prepared by Hannah, ever the domestic one of the foursome. It had been her idea and the others had welcomed it enthusiastically. It was warm and sunny, and the sky was a gorgeous blue and cloud free, and a light, cool breeze prevented the weather from being unpleasantly hot and sticky.

"Remember the last time we had a picnic by water?" asked Hannah, her hand unconsciously straying to her wand, which was safely in her pocket. She shuddered involuntarily as some of the memories from the battle came unbidden into her mind. Shaking her head, she forced them away.

Hermione nodded grimly. "Vividly," she assured her.

"How could I forget?" added Draco softly, mentally fighting off unpleasant, invasive memories. He was leaning against a tree by the riverbank, left hand idly trailing in the clear water. He was still tired from Harry's party and as a result was unable to do much. It had been a struggle for him to make it out today – partly because of Madam Pomfrey, who had popped in briefly the day after Harry's party to check on hangovers. She had ordered Draco to be far more careful about overdoing things because he was on the verge of having a relapse. He had dutifully agreed; he _hated_ being so exhausted all the time.

Pomfrey had started to talk about him seeing someone at St. Mungo's about it, stating that although she was no expert, she was beginning to seriously consider the possibility of it being chronic fatigue syndrome. The symptoms all fit, she had said. Draco had been quite willing to let her make the contact with the hospital; for him, having a firm diagnosis would make it easier to deal with.

It had been hard work persuading her to allow him to come on this picnic. He still suffered from horrific nightmares, which had showed no signs of easing yet, despite seeing a psychiatrist. In the end he had told Pomfrey that as she wasn't staying at Lupin's for the whole day, there was nothing she could do to _force_ him to stay indoors and in bed.

"The war's not over yet," Harry reminded them soberly. "There are still trials to take place, evidence to be given, sentences to pass…And if that letter Draco got has got even the slightest grain of truth in it…"

"I don't know if I could withstand another battle," said Draco quietly, staring down at the grass. "I don't feel like I'm ever going to completely recover; if I haven't done by now, which I haven't, it's unlikely that I ever will. Pomfrey – Pomfrey said that another battle like that would almost definitely kill me if a cast spell doesn't. It's _hell_, and I _hate_ it." His eyes fluttered closed in obvious weariness.

The others were silent. Draco never talked about his illness – it was the way he had been brought up that had made him like that – but it soon became apparent that he was not going to say any more today.

"You know, it was odd to see Snape and Lupin being nice to each other for once," commented Hermione, starting a daisy chain.

"You have to admit, though, Sirius _does_ make himself a pretty easy target for ridicule when he's hung-over," replied Harry, smirking. The others laughed in agreement, and Harry reached out, taking Hermione's hand. "I'm glad we'll be living in our own home soon. Much as I like Lupin's, it's not _my_ home."

"I know what you mean," said Hannah, nodding. "Draco and I aren't leaving for another month. But at least once we _have_ got our own homes, we'll be really close to each other. I love Godric's Hollow. I couldn't have lived in the Manor; it's far too isolated and bleak."

"The _area's_ decent enough!" Draco shot back defensively. "It was just the actual _house_ that I couldn't have lived in. Not after what my father put me through for so long. There are far too many bad memories in that place." He paused. "You know, I often wonder what happened to some of the Slytherins after the battle. Pansy and Millicent we know about; they're being dealt with by the Ministry. But then there's people like Blaise Zabini –"

"Did he not die?" asked Hermione, surprised.

"No; I only Stunned him. I didn't hang around. He could easily have got away." He ran his fingers through his hair. "When we faced each other, out there… The look in his eyes was evil – pure evil. I've only ever seen that look in one other person, and that was my father."

"That sounds ominous," commented Hermione.

Draco shrugged. "I don't know. It's not like he was a particularly good student; I can't imagine he'd make a very good Dark Lord."

"They can be the worst ones sometimes," pointed out Harry. "Like Peter Pettigrew. Look at what _he_ did."

"He can't ever do anything again," Hermione reminded him. "Not now he's received the Dementor's Kiss." She shuddered as she imagined it being performed. She wasn't sure she would wish that fate on anybody. She knew that she would rather die than continue to exist as a shell, without a soul.

"Sirius is just annoyed that he never got to commit the murder he served twelve years in Azkaban for," observed Hannah, smiling.

"He'll just have to get over it, then," said Hermione sensibly.

"As you said, Pettigrew can't ever _do_ anything to anyone again," added Draco. He idly flicked his wand at Hannah, showering her with leaves.

Hannah, in response, leaned over and pushed him into the river.

"Hey!" he yelled as he surfaced, spluttering, startled by the sudden drenching in cold water.

"We've got our swimming stuff on," replied Hannah, shrugging. "Why are you objecting?"

Draco hauled himself out of the river with Hermione's help. "Maybe the fact that I'm still fully dressed?" His grey eyes glittered dangerously.

Hannah pulled her T-shirt off to reveal a yellow swimsuit with a badger embroidered on the left-hand side just below the shoulder strap. She kicked her sandals off, dropped her skirt on top of her T-shirt and slipped into the water. "Ooooh, it's lovely and cool. Come on, you lot!"

Hermione did not need to be asked twice. Thick, bushy hair tied up out of her face, she slipped her strappy blue top and denim shorts off to reveal a swimsuit similar to Hannah's, only red in colour and bearing a lion instead of a badger. The House swimsuits had become very popular in their sixth year, when Madam Pomfrey had declared that the school's general fitness levels were appalling and that more students should do sports. Swimming had rapidly become the most popular sport after Quidditch – nothing would ever become _more_ popular than Quidditch!

The (now former) Head Girl assisted Draco in draping his soaked clothes on the nearby bushes. They were already starting to dry in the hot sun, she observed, before gracefully slipping into the water to join Hannah. "Hurry up, you two!" she hollered at the boys.

Harry and Draco exchanged conspiratorial looks. The girls shrieked as two loud splashes sounded when the boys jumped in as violently as they could manage, drenching their fiancées. "_That_," Draco declared as Hannah splashed him, "is revenge for pushing me in!"

"Then what did _I _do to deserve such treatment?" demanded Hermione indignantly.

Harry responded simply by splashing her, and it quickly descended into a free-for-all water fight in the river.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

Unbeknown to the four, Dumbledore and Sirius were watching them – Lupin's attic provided an excellent view over the river and the surrounding countryside. The headmaster turned to the former fugitive. "Let them have their fun, Sirius. There is still much left in the world for them to do. They need this."

Sirius nodded in agreement, a contemplative expression on his face. "I don't doubt you there, Albus," he said quietly. "I don't doubt you there at all. But this chapter in their books is over."

"And it is time for a new and completely different one to begin." Dumbledore chuckled. "Oh, we _shall_ enjoy watching them!"

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

**THE END**

**Author notes**

I promised you all that I would tell you what was wrong with Draco at the end of this fic, and I have kept that promise. Although not yet diagnosed officially, he is suffering from chronic fatigue syndrome (sometimes known as ME).

The exact cause of CFS is currently unknown, although a number of possible triggers have been identified. The main triggers that have been identified are a combination of viral infections, significant internal and external stressors, and overwork. A minor illness may then act as the final precipitating event (the straw that broke the camel's back, as it were) that tips the person into ill-health.

In the same way as the triggering of the illness by certain factors, there will be perpetuators of the illness, which are often similar to the triggers – usually stress and recurrent infections, and the patterns that can develop in response to the symptoms. Therefore, once a state of fatigue has become established, cognitive, behavioural, emotional, psychological and social factors may act to perpetuate it (eg. unhelpful beliefs, ineffective coping behaviour, negative mood states, social problems, pathophysiological processes). A vicious cycle then ensues, trapping the person in chronic illness. The best way to describe activity patterns is peaks and troughs.

CDC criteria (1994)

New onset of self-reported persistent or relapsing, debilitating fatigue in a person who has no previous history of similar symptoms, that has lasted for 6 months or longer, is disabling and affects physical and mental functioning and: is characterised by fatigue as the principal symptom; is of new or definite onset (not lifelong); is not the result of ongoing exertion; is not substantially alleviated by rest; results in substantial reduction in previous levels of occupation, educational, social or personal activities.

Other clinical conditions that may produce similar symptoms, including pre-existing psychiatric diseases, must be excluded. These conditions will include: any active medical condition; any previously diagnosed medical condition whose continued activity may explain the illness, such as previously treated malignancies and unresolved cases of hepatitis B or C infection; any past or current diagnosis of major depressive disorder, including bipolar affective disorder (manic depression), schizophrenia, delusional disorders, dementia, anorexia nervosa or bulimia nervosa; alcohol or substance abuse within 2 years; severe obesity.

Four or more of the following symptoms must be concurrently present for 6 or more months: impaired concentration or memory; sore throat; tender cervical or axillary lymph nodes; muscle pain; multi-joint pain without joint swelling or redness; headaches of a new type, pattern or severity; unrefreshing sleep; post-exertional malaise lasting more than 24 hours.

This information comes from:

Cox, Diane L. (2000). _Occupational Therapy and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome_. London: Whurr Publishers.

(Diane was one of my lecturers – she's still at St. Martin's but I'm leaving on Monday – and you're _very_ unlikely to come across anything to do with OT and CFS that hasn't got at least one reference to something she's done! She's great).


End file.
